


The Way To a Man’s Heart (How Malfoy’s Bon Bites Became Britain’s First Vegetarian Wizarding Restaurant, Almost)

by Catsintheattic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Cannibalism, Case Fic, Character Death, M/M, Murder, Mystery, Post - Deathly Hallows, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-05
Updated: 2009-12-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsintheattic/pseuds/Catsintheattic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started as a case of rat infestation. Then, MoM Health Inspector Harry Potter found a strange meat marker he’d never seen before. Next he knew of was that he had at least one murder case to solve, further complicated by Draco Malfoy’s completely uncooperative behaviour. Starring Health Inspector!Harry, three assistant inspectors, science-wiz!Hermione, delivery boy!Teddy, and, of course, restaurant chef!Draco.</p><p>Warnings: EWE. AU in which Peter Pettigrew survived the war. Minor character death and mention of cannibalism. A flirting house-elf. Abuse of X-files names. Last minute romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way To a Man’s Heart (How Malfoy’s Bon Bites Became Britain’s First Vegetarian Wizarding Restaurant, Almost)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vaysh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaysh/gifts).



**Wednesday, 16th August, 2017, 2:13 a.m.**

His chest was hurting again. Peter stifled a cough to avoid waking everyone up. They weren’t many tonight. Harris, forty years old and looking sixty. Dough, he knew the best places to get warm bread for free in the mornings. Art, his cough worse than Peter’s – Harris gave him the kind of looks that didn’t bode well. Chick, the only woman of the group, though she might have been the toughest of them all. They lay spread around under the bushes, far enough to keep their shred of privacy, yet close enough so that their mutual presence would protect them from harm. The gang of teenagers that had taken to frequenting the park recently was not to be messed with; they had knives added to the usual collection of sticks and bottles. Under the Imperius-like influence of drugs as many of them were, Peter considered them particularly dangerous.

He shuddered. Not that anyone here would understand what Imperius meant. None of them knew of the life he had left behind. And for all the hunger and the cold, he was glad of it. None of them spat in his face, none of them expected him to betray them. He had proven his worth in finding dry places to sleep and his uncanny knack for spotting danger. And he had earned his place among them.

No one would miss him in the wizarding world. But they would miss each other in their little group of strays. They were good at taking care of each other. People had gone missing in the last few days, but their little tightly knit group had managed not to be affected until tonight. 

The next cough threatened to force its way up from Peter’s lungs when he heard a small creak from where Art and Chick had placed their sleeping bags. Was there someone shuffling around on the other side of the bushes? Maybe it would have been wise to go to the shelter. But they never had enough money, and the shelter was best limited to the very cold winter nights, when even sleeping in a huddled nest of bodies wouldn’t keep them warm enough to survive the night. It was August, and not even Peter’s instinct would be able to convince the others to sleep inside.

Another creak. Was it the gang members? Peter peered through his lashes. And this time he also saw light – the pin-point light that only a wand could conjure. No flashlight could ever shine with that amount of focus. Peter felt his heartbeat accelerate. What was a wizard doing in Hyde Park? He heard a distinct shuffling of feet and then another, a little more to the left. Two then. He drew in a sharp breath, and his lungs protested from all the coughs he’d swallowed down. A wet smacking sound escaped his lips.

The shuffling stopped at once. Peter’s heart was racing, and his silently cursed his bad luck. _Please, let them think I coughed in my sleep. Let them take what they came for and then go and let us be. Please._

But they didn’t leave. Instead, the branches of the bushes were pulled aside, and a head peered through. Peter hastened to close his eyes, feigning sleep. He could tell without looking that the wand-light ghosted over the sleepers. Finally, the movement stopped. He felt the light shining brightly on his face. Nothing happened. His lungs threatened to burst in his chest. They had to leave. Whatever their business, they mustn’t know who he was. 

He felt a soft poking, a shoe nudging his side. How long would he be able to pretend that he was asleep? Another nudge, this time a little more insistent. 

“Hey, you.” A voice with a slight slur.

Peter was trembling from head to toe. Only an idiot would still think him asleep. 

Again. “Hey, you. I think I know you.” 

“Stop it.” The second voice was older, with the firmness that only came from years of commanding others.

“I know this one.” Whining now as well as slurring, like a kicked puppy begging for attention.

“Let me see.”

A second light fell on his face, doubling the intensity. This time, the kick in his side was meant to wake him. Peter shot up, his eyes wide open.

“You?” He stared, doubting his eyes.

A sudden movement in the periphery of his perception was all the warning he got. Something blunt connected with his temple. Pain surged through his head and neck, overwhelming him. The face in front of him went blurry. 

Another hit to his temple. 

Then: nothing.

 

**Friday, 19th August, 2017, 10:34 p.m.**

Harry was almost finished with his treacle tart and coffee when Malfoy sauntered towards his table, wearing his usual winning smile.

“Good evening. Has everything been to your taste, Potter?” 

Harry swallowed and took a quick sip of coffee to clear his mouth of the dessert. “Delicious, Malfoy. Your treacle tart is truly the best in London, either wizarding or Muggle.”

Malfoy made a face. “Come on. Don’t start comparing my treacle tart to that Muggle crap they sell on the other side. I’ve taken samples, and I can tell the difference. And don’t get your hopes up – I’m not about to reveal the secret of our recipe.”

Harry grinned. “I wouldn’t have hoped for that.” Before Malfoy had a chance to cut in, he added, “And, please, don’t try to appease my curiosity with another portion. If I keep that up, I’ll have to start buying new suits.”

Malfoy looked Harry up and down, cocking an eyebrow. “Nothing I see that’s not looking _healthy_.”

“Ha ha – funny joke! Malfoy, that’s lame, even for you.”

“Are you implying that I don’t know how to make funny jokes?”

“That would be the case, yes indeed.”

Before their banter could run out, Harry pointed toward the stack of papers at the left of his plate. “Look Malfoy, I’d love to chat a little more, but I have to work my way through these cases until tomorrow.”

Malfoy glanced at Harry’s papers. “Baldwin’s kicking your ass? Finally someone who knows his job.” His grin broadened. “Don’t let me keep you, Potter. The wizarding world needs to be saved from the next plague, I’m sure.” He gave a little mock-bow. “Thank you for visiting Malfoy’s Bon Bites, and we’ll be happy to see you again.” Just before he turned around he changed, became a little lopsided. It looked less professional, and it was the one Harry liked best on him. 

Harry waved his goodbyes, chuckling. Malfoy always had to have his little show and tell, as if Harry wasn’t a regular customer who came at least every Friday. It was a good way to finish the work week, and Malfoy was right: his treacle tart was the best. The rest of the menu was highly recommended as well. Malfoy’s Bon Bites had developed a reputation for exclusive dinners and was frequently sought out by the better off. Business meetings were held in the quiet parlour rooms, and successful companies liked to book the theme-and-motif evenings for end-of-year or other celebrations.

Everyone had been surprised that Malfoy had chosen such an unusual career after the war. With Malfoy’s knack for potions and the family company trading potions ingredients all over the world, Harry had expected him to pick up his father’s business. But after Malfoy’s record had finally been cleared, he had left for France and New York to study under the most well-known chefs for three years. On his return to England, Malfoy had immediately filed an application at the Office for the Regulation of Magical Food and Sustenance. After receiving his licence, he had bought a place in the best part of wizarding London and had started advertising in the Prophet and on the Wizarding Wireless Network. 

The first wave of customers had been drawn by the scandal of a former Death Eater dabbling in cooking. They had stayed for the gossip. The second wave of customers had come because Malfoy made it hard to overlook his place. They had stayed for the changing events and curiosities. The third wave of customers had come through recommendations. They had stayed for the quality of the food. Last year, Malfoy’s Bon Bites had celebrated its tenth anniversary.

As a health inspector, Harry kept a close eye on the place. It was his job to make sure restaurants and cafes were assessed and classified according to health standards. Whereas the Three Broomsticks got an A for Agreeable and an establishment like the Hog’s Head got LT for Life-Threatening, Malfoy’s place ranged with the few restaurants that had earned themselves an E for Exquisite – even though his status as an ex-Death Eater kept costing him points in trustworthiness. Malfoy worked constantly to keep his restaurant in the top range, using only the best and freshest ingredients as well as putting inventive new seasonal dishes on the menu. Harry could still remember the discussions when Malfoy’s Bon Bites had announced _June is Dead Elf Head Cake-Month! Celebrate the summer with a portrait of your favourite little helper!_ – Hermione had taken weeks to calm down. 

After the first few months, Harry found that he liked the welcoming atmosphere of the place and returned not only for his infrequent inspections, but also for regular meals. When the break-up with Ginny seven years ago had released him from coming home at night, he had increased the rate of his visits until, over the last few years, he had established a routine. Every Friday, and on a few other days as well, Harry enjoyed Malfoy’s culinary creations. Harry was a traditional eater, picking the same dishes over and over again. It was due to Malfoy’s insistent coaxing that he had broadened his horizons, even though he insisted on shepherd’s pie and treacle tart once a month, no matter what. 

Malfoy’s acerbic humour and his constant flirting were something Harry enjoyed a lot. He knew that Malfoy’s meaningful looks meant nothing; they were just the way Malfoy liked to run his business. He flirted with practically everyone, and Harry enjoyed their banter for what it truly was: a friendly exchange of witty repartee. 

 

**Monday, 21st August, 2017, 7:30 a.m.**

Monday morning, immediately on his arrival, Harry was called into Broderick Baldwin’s office. As usual, the Head of Department offered him a cup of coffee and asked about his weekend.

“Don’t ask. I practically had to kick Teddy out of bed this morning. They’re working him so hard on this delivery job he does that he almost overslept every other day last week. Told me he gets to see all kinds of strange places.”

Baldwin chuckled. “Working him hard? My old man always said that hard work builds character like nothing else. Seems like Teddy’s job is building your character, too. I’ve never seen you in the office that early.”

Harry gave him a rumpled smile. He liked to start late in the mornings, but so what? He usually was the last one to leave the office, too.

“But I’m glad you’re already here. It looks like we have a new case, a big one. Do you remember the incident from last Wednesday? The one we thought that someone had smuggled a batch of Persistent Puking Pastries into that confectionery in Diagon Alley?” When Harry nodded, Baldwin continued. “The lab results just came in. No Puking Pastries. Instead, they found traces of rat. To make sure, they asked the Department of Pest Control for confirmation. They came up with the same results.”

“Rat? Why would anyone use rat as a pastry ingredient?”

“Wait and hear me out, Potter. It gets worse. It wasn’t just rat. Next thing they did was to involve AAMII. Your friend Granger found traces of a rather aggressive flu virus. See,” Baldwin reached out and thrust a stack of papers towards Harry, “she calls them proteins.”

Harry waved the offered papers away. “And I’m sure she would be able to lecture us for two days on the advantage of the combination of Muggle bio-analysis with tracing spells and detective potions. But that’s not our main concern, is it?”

“Quick on the uptake, as always. We have to make sure that every restaurant gets tested. Take two or three of your team and get them started. I want every place tested in no time, from the poshest in-place to the lowliest corner shop that sells their grandmother’s baked goods.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll take Scully and Mulder.” Scully had been a Ravenclaw and had a knack for not only spotting inconsistencies, but also pointing them out without flinching. She was perfect on the job. Mulder, on the other hand, would be the one to deal with the owners. The former Hufflepuff had a talent for holding hands and drawing confessions out of people like no one else. 

“Do that. And start immediately. Is there anything else on your desk that can’t wait? If so, give it to Brisbane: he could use a little challenge. Try to look in on him every other day, all right?”

Back in his office, Harry made a mental list of the things he had to do. First, brief Scully and Mulder and ask them to compile a priority list of restaurants, most visited places to be checked first. Then, talk to Brisbane about the two cases Harry needed him to take over. One was a sewer incident, where an elderly witch had complained about hisses and scratches coming out of the sink in her kitchen. He had conducted the interview last Wednesday, but the recordings of the sink had to be set up and taken. The other was some case that had just come in last Friday evening, a complaint about noisy machines in one of the old warehouses in wizarding London. Probably just some bored old bloke who loved filing complaints. But public opinion mattered, and it was the kind of complaint that could land them a letter to the editor of the Prophet if they didn’t take care of it.

The briefing went well, but Brisbane had several questions Harry had to answer before he could return to his office, half an hour later than he had hoped. 

Scully and Mulder had left five pages for him on his desk. _We’re on our way_ , said the note in Scully’s messy scribble that sat on top of the pages, _don’t want to waste time_. Harry put it aside and looked at the list. His gaze fell on the first names of the list, and he let out a groan. Malfoy’s Bon Bites. Harry jumped to his feet, grabbed his wand and headed for the door. If he was lucky, he might not be too late to save Scully and Mulder from immediate incineration. 

 

**Monday, 21st August, 2017, 9:11 a.m.**

Harry Apparated right into the yard behind Malfoy’s Bon Bites and headed for the back entrance, where the food deliveries were made with a direct access to the kitchen and the storage rooms. He could hear the familiar clattering of pans and the hacking of knives, the squeaking of house-elves, and above all, Malfoy’s voice.

“What about ‘leave my restaurant this instant’ do you not understand? I’ve never had an unannounced visit from your Department. This behaviour is uncalled for. I will file a complaint with your superior. As you might know, Harry Potter and I are on good terms and I’m certain that he will not tolerate such behaviour.” 

As expected, Malfoy wasn’t taking the investigation lightly. But there was nothing Harry could do about the procedure. Every restaurant was to be investigated _without previous announcement_. Baldwin had been particularly clear about this point, and Harry saw no reason to proceed otherwise. It was only fair.

The relief on Mulder’s face when he spotted Harry in the doorway spoke volumes about the verbal abuse he had suffered from Malfoy. The change in his expression made Malfoy turn around. 

Malfoy’s eyes were blazing and his cheeks were pink with fury. “Potter, thank god, you’re here to sort these two out! They ordered me to freeze all production until further notice so that they could run some kind of made-up investigation – can you imagine? We’re running a huge event this week: Eeylops has booked the whole place over the next three days for their Annual Standardisation of International Owl Delivery Conference. I spent the whole weekend experimenting with Falcon Feather Fluffs. It’s a combination of spun caramel covered in flakes of ice cream, and they tickle your tongue just so. You have to try them. I’m certain you’ve never tasted anything so good before.” 

Malfoy turned to retrieve a tasting spoon from the impressive collection of cooking cutlery behind him, and his gaze passed Scully and Mulder. Harry saw that Scully was gaping openly, whereas Mulder had his mouth covered with his hand and was feigning a cough – a last effort to keep his astonishment in check. Malfoy stopped mid-twirl and tightened his shoulders, as if to brace himself for what he had to do next. Then, very slowly, he turned back towards Harry, his gaze piercing.

“You knew about this.”

Malfoy’s inflection indicated a statement, not a question. Still, Harry nodded.

“Why?” Spoken with the same eerily calm voice. No one could go from blowing his top to glacier-cold in less time than Malfoy.

“We have a case of rat contamination in combination with a flu virus. All restaurants have to be investigated. And it makes no sense to keep selling food until we’re sure that everything is under control.”

Malfoy’s gaze shifted over to his kitchen utensils as he considered Harry’s answer. Then, he trained it back on Harry like a wand in combat. “Since when have you known?”

Harry had an inkling of where they were heading. “This morning. It’s a high-risk case of public safety. We acted immediately.”

“That’s all well and good. But why pick my place first? It’s not as if I’ve ever stepped over the line since I’ve started my business. This restaurant runs on the highest possible standards for wizarding food.”

“We simply began with the most frequented places. Those that attract the most customers.”

Malfoy drew himself up to his full height and lifted his chin. “Show me your list. I want to see your priorities for myself.”

“Our list is none of your business,” Scully cut in. “We had to start somewhere, didn’t we?”

Harry cringed inwardly, waiting for another outburst from Malfoy. 

It didn’t come. Malfoy ignored Scully completely. Instead, he took a few more steps in Harry’s direction until they were close enough that Harry could see the tiny beads of sweat on Malfoy’s temples. Harry caught a whiff of the slightly burned smell of caramelised sugar, but nothing in Malfoy’s expression suggested sweetness, or kindness.

“The way I see it, Potter, is you’ve jumped to the first conclusion sitting around. A case of rat contamination? We have to protect people from public danger – oh, such a noble cause! Do we have a list of suspects yet? No? Well, let’s just call on someone we’ve condemned in the past. Check out all those former Death Eaters first, just to make sure. Let’s--“

“Stop it, Malfoy. That’s not what we’re doing.”

“You haven’t? I bet Zabini’s name is high priority as well, isn’t it?” 

“Zabini’s place is almost as busy as yours. But that’s not the point.”

The frantic screams of a house-elf interrupted them. “No, Mr Inspector, sir, you mustn’t! You mustn’t touch talented Master Malfoy’s pastries!”

Scully and Mulder had gone back to sealing off the kitchen. Mulder was busy covering half-baked pastries. A female elf in a brilliant white tea cosy tugged at Mulder’s leg and banged her own head against the cupboard at the same time. “Sir, please, ouch, you mustn’t, ouch, touch the, ouch, pastries!”

Malfoy abandoned Harry and walked over to Mulder. 

“Master Malfoy, please, I tried! I tried to protect the pastries!” The elf threw herself down at Malfoy’s feet, sobbing hysterically. 

“Stop doing this. Can’t you see you’re ruining them?” Malfoy reached for Mulder and stopped himself only inches before he touched the man’s sleeve, clearly torn between the wish to interfere and prudence telling him not to attack a Ministry official. 

Harry stepped in. “Mulder, Scully? Could you just take the rest of Mr Malfoy’s staff outside and wait until we’re ready to proceed?” Scully opened her mouth, but Harry cut across her. “Please go. Now.”

Scully and Mulder ushered the shell-shocked house-elves out of the kitchen, ignoring the sobbing specimen on the floor. At last, Malfoy bent down. “Go with them, Elfie. It’s all right.” She left, tears still running down her face and into her tea cosy.

When they were alone, Harry turned to face Malfoy. Malfoy was fiddling with a pastry, trying to repair the damage. With the room suddenly silent, he looked up.

“I guess I won’t serve them tonight, will I?”

Harry suppressed the urge to sigh. “No, I guess you won’t. Why do you have to make this more difficult than it needs to be?”

“Do you know what this will do to my reputation, Potter? People love scandals. Not to mention the loss of income from having to cancel the conference. I’ll be lucky if they don’t sue me.” 

“But this has nothing to do with you, or with your past. Every restaurant gets the same treatment. It’s only fair.” 

“Oh, it’s only fair!” Malfoy’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Since when do you care so much about being fair to former Death Eaters? Since when do you care about the fact that it makes a difference if someone’s first on a list of suspects or last? Since when do you think about rearranging a schedule, so that I could have run the conference and then get tested? Do you really think you’ll find anything here? You know my place. You could at least have given me a warning!”

Malfoy had turned so that they stood face to face, and Harry could feel his temper rise. “Since when do I care about fair treatment of former Death Eaters? That might have been since the day I saved your sorry arse from going to Azkaban with my statement in front of the Wizengamot. And now you have the audacity to demand a warning! Let me ask you a question, Malfoy. Since when did you care about anything but favouritism?”

If the temperature in Malfoy’s voice had grown any colder, his words would have been snowflakes. “I wasn’t talking about a favour. I was talking about--” He broke off, turned and gripped the counter with both hands. “Forget it. Go and save the world again. Go and show your loyalty to Muggles and Muggle lovers. Go and eat your own high brow morality shit.”

Harry forced himself to ignore the insults, to bring at least the pretence of composure back into his voice. “Come on, Malfoy. Go home, have a rest, and let us do our job. I’m sorry that this is such bad timing for you. But the less you interfere, the faster you’ll be back at work.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Malfoy shrugged. His fist crashed down on one of the pastries Mulder had already wrapped up for examination. The filling was squashed through the wrapping and dripped on the impeccably clean floor. “Do your worst.” He wiped his hand on a kitchen towel and turned to leave. “Just don’t pretend that you care.”

When he was at the kitchen door, Malfoy turned around once more. “After all, putting me in my place is one of the things you enjoy best, Potter, isn’t it?”

 

**Monday, 21st August, 2017, 1:05 p.m.**

Harry and Hermione sat in a little coffee shop in Diagon Alley, not far from the Ministry. Harry’s team was on lunch break, and Hermione had looked happy at his suggestion to go and join him. 

“Can you believe his nerve?” Harry stirred the remnants of his cup and splashed coffee all over the table. He had spent the last thirty minutes venting his anger about Malfoy.

“Harry, calm _down_.” Hermione’s voice sounded a little tense. “Don’t you think it’s natural for Malfoy to be upset about this?”

“Upset? He was screaming bloody murder! And frankly, no, I don’t understand. He acted like I betrayed his trust, while I was only doing my job, being nothing but fair to him. Which is not enough for him, oh no! He still expects extra-special treatment, as if he was above the concerns of mere mortals.”

“Harry, I--” 

“He’s the same arrogant Death Eater git he’s always been. Told me to go and save Muggles and Muggle lovers. The git.”

“Harry, are you done ranting?” Hermione paused. When Harry only huffed, she continued, slowly choosing her words, as if she was treading on dangerous ground. “Really. Have you given any thought to why this ... why it upsets you so much?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Oh yes, you are. And mightily, if I’m allowed to say so. Now, why would that be?” She looked at him, and under her scrutinising eyes, Harry put down the spoon and started to think, hard. Hermione waited in silence until Harry cleared his throat. “Well?”

“Seven years. I’ve had my Friday dinner at his place for the last seven years. And it felt ... you know ... friendly.” He picked up the spoon again, only to let it fall back down on the table. “Not that we’ve been friends or anything like that. We didn’t talk much, just joking and such. But it was ... nice. Hell, I even started to like him. And I saw how he treated his customers. With ... respect – like he meant it.”

Harry ran his hands through his hair. This was harder than he’d thought it would be. The urge to rage was gone and had left a hollow feeling. “See, Hermione, I really thought he’d changed.” Harry swallowed around the tightness in his throat. “Seems I was mistaken.”

 

**Monday, 21st August, 2017, 1:52 p.m.**

When Harry trotted down the familiar corridor in the Ministry that led to his office, he could hear the voices of Scully and Mulder arguing in one of the labs.

“Are you sure the sample hasn’t been contaminated? I’ve checked it three times and the result is always the same. I’ve never seen a line like that.” Even though Harry couldn’t see Scully yet, he could picture her face scrunched up in an expression that dared to question the existence of baby Kneazels and post owls. 

He entered. “A strange result?”

Mulder blinked at him. “It’s this sample here. We aren’t sure--“

“Something’s wrong with it.” Scully pointed at a mirror behind her. “I did the Spectre Spell repeatedly and on different samples of the same origin, too. It always displays a line I’ve never seen before.”

“That’s interesting. Show me.”

She flicked her wand towards the sample and cast the spell. A colourless jet of light hit the sample. A part of the light was reflected, but another went right through the sample and hit the huge mirror screen placed behind. The mirror’s surface started to shift and shimmer, until after a few moments, a multi-coloured pattern of stripes, curls and dots appeared. Harry studied it closely. 

“All right. I see an almost typical spectrum of a well-balanced meal. Golden yellow dots – maybe in a two on the scale, greenish-yellow in a four or five, a three of light green curls, and another five of the typical dark red of good beef. Butter and cheese, potatoes, peas, and beef – so far, that looks a lot like shepherd’s pie. If there wasn’t that greyish red line right in the neighbourhood of the beef marker.” 

“This is a prime example of a shepherd’s pie sample. And the reference guide for food poisoning says that the new line is just what we’ve been looking for: rat. But what I don’t get is the small line just next to the two meat markers.” Scully pointed at the mirror. “See?”

Harry squinted at the screen. He could see what she was talking about. And he had no idea what it meant.

“Huh. That’s a strange line indeed. Where did you get it from?”

Mulder checked the sample’s labelling. “MBB-SP-3,” he announced.

Scully snorted. “Why am I not surprised? Malfoy’s Bon Bites, of course. We took that sample of shepherd’s pie from the cooling chamber.”

Harry’s stomach gave a funny twinge. Was it a sample of leftovers from his Friday dish? He brushed the thought aside.

“What about the other samples from Malfoy’s place? Any similar results?”

“Rat showed up only in the samples from the cooling chamber. The strange line is in all the samples we’ve collected, the older ones from Friday as well as about half of the meat-pies we analysed today.”

“I see. And the other restaurants?”

“So far, we’ve collected samples from about a quarter of all the places on our list. The owners weren’t pleased, of course, though none of them made a huge fuss like Malfoy did. Mr Zabini was actually quite helpful and ordered his elves to help us collect the samples. We’re almost through with our analysis. Two more places came up with the rat marker, the latest sample going as far back as Thursday.”

“Locations?”

Scully ruffled through the pages, but Mulder was quicker. “One is a tiny snack trolley on Diagon Alley. The witch who runs it told us that she orders her meat from one of the larger meat distributors, as it makes no sense for her to have a grinder of her own.”

Harry nodded. It was pretty much standard these days for the smaller restaurants to order half-processed meat. Only big places like Hogwarts or a posh restaurant like Malfoy’s would have their own grinder.

“The other place is a dodgy restaurant close to the Thames,” Mulder went on. “We suspect that a rat might have slipped into the kitchen.”

“Huh. So we have rat in three cases, and a single strange line in Malfoy’s samples from Friday. First thing tomorrow, I’ll need you to collect more samples from the other restaurants on our list. I hope we’ll have samples from all relevant places collected and tested by the end of this week. In the afternoon, you, Mulder, will go and interview the owners of the rat-infested restaurants you identified so far. Scully, you’ll continue analysing samples. See if we have more cases of rat.”

“And Malfoy’s sample? What about the unidentified line?” Scully asked.

“Frankly, I have no idea. But the cleverest witch in my year at school told me you could find almost anything in a book.”

Harry stood up and cast a spell at the mirror. “ _Imago!_ ” The air in front of the mirror shimmered, and a copy of the mirror image appeared. He swept it up with his wand and carefully transferred it onto a blank piece of paper. 

“It might be easier if I just asked her.”

 

**Tuesday, 22nd August, 2017, 6:02 p.m.**

Harry waited for Hermione’s findings the next day, while he helped gather samples with Scully and Mulder. No matter how many times he looked towards the open door in the hope of a charmed paper aeroplane zooming in, none came. Hermione knew how much was at stake and had given Harry’s request first priority. As head of the Office for the Appreciation and Application of Muggle Intelligence and Inventions (AAMII), she was free to shift her priorities to whatever case demanded a combination of Muggle and magical methods of investigation. When Harry had showed her the image of the strange sample, she had promised to work on the case right away.

Around six o’clock, the fireplace in the laboratory finally flared and Hermione stepped forwards. Her eyes were ablaze, like she had spectacular news for Harry. But at the same time, the vertical line between her eyes spoke of serious trouble.

Harry steered her into his office, away from Scully’s overeager ears, and poured a cup of tea for each of them.

“So, what did you find? It’s serious, isn’t it?”

“Harry, oh ... I don’t know how to say it. It’s terrible.” Hermione drew a deep breath before she continued. “It’s ... I can’t ... I don’t want to imagine what must have happened ...”

“Hermione, please, just spit it out.”

“The sample, the unidentified line in the sample ... it’s human.” She stared across the table at Harry. “This was the most unusual colour I’ve ever seen in a Spectre Spell result. I used all the reference books I had but couldn’t find a good match. Then I cross-checked in the International Library and found the Journal of Curious Magical Cases. They had a reference to a similar case.”

Harry was still busy catching the meaning of her first sentence. “Human? You mean ...”

“I mean whoever made that batch of shepherd’s pie used beef, rat and wizard as ingredients. Who would do something like that?” 

“Malfoy,” whispered Harry. “The sample is one of Malfoy’s. In fact, we found several samples contaminated with this particular... well, you know ... ingredient.”

“Malfoy? But he, he cares so much about his place. Why would he risk everything and do something like that? You know he couldn’t kill when his life depended on it. Why would he do something so utterly stupid now for no reason?”

“I don’t know, Hermione. All I know is the result we have from our analysis. Maybe he got himself mixed up in something and had to get rid of a body.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, Malfoy is no killer. He doesn’t have it in him.”

“You know how I’d thought he had changed? How I believed he had become someone who was genuinely trying to better himself? Maybe I was right. Maybe Malfoy has changed. Maybe he’s grown into a killer after all.”

Hermione looked at him, a deep frown on her face. “It isn’t just contamination, is it?”

“We found the marker in all last Friday’s samples we took from Malfoy’s place. It’s enough to conclude that we aren’t talking about a chopped off finger.”

Hermione’s tiny flinch reminded Harry of the fact that she was used to dealing with research and campaigns, but not with messy cases, and he apologised. 

“It’s okay. I’m all right.” 

Nothing was better to distract Hermione than to ask about the details of her research. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me about the reference case you found? It might be helpful in coming up with other suspects.”

“Funny you should ask this just when you fear that I’m about to keel over from shock.” She cocked an eyebrow. “But it really is a strange case. I’m not sure it will help you with ideas about suspects, though. Listen: a witch and a wizard, deeply in love. One day she simply vanishes, and her parents file a missing person report. Aurors investigate. I’ll spare you the middle part and jump right to the interesting bit. Her boyfriend gets interrogated and he finally breaks down, confesses that he has eaten her.”

“That’s disgusting!”

“I know, but it gets even weirder. The Aurors found jars with – well, I’m sure you can imagine what they found, samples similar to the one you gave me.” She rearranged her cup on its saucer and then continued her story. “It turned out that both of them had been part of a cult called Lovers United in Death. They eat their deceased.”

“But she wasn’t dead, was she?”

“She had a terminal illness. And so he helped her to die and then ... He was, of course, brought to trial, but the Wizengamot came to the conclusion that he wasn’t guilty of murder. He also presented a testament of his dead girlfriend that clearly said that she had wanted to be reunited with him after death.”

“By serving as his hamburger? What is it about people and death that makes them go crazy like that? Honestly, eating your dead girlfriend, how mad is that?”

“I know. Almost like another case of Death Eaters, isn’t it? Even though for the Lovers United in Death, the whole idea was much more about love than about defying death.”

An idea was beginning to dawn on Harry. “Unless we have a case of a former Death Eater who’s taken up killing Muggles and feeding their dead bodies to his customers, I can’t see how both cases could be related, though.” 

“And why would Malfoy do something like that?” asked Hermione.

“I don’t know. Maybe he thought he’d have a laugh by toying with us. Everyone thinks he’s reformed, but what if he was running his own little plot of revenge?”

Hermione drummed her fingers on the table. “Or he’s being set up by someone who wants revenge on him. The Malfoys got away lightly enough after the war. Maybe some of their former allies aren’t happy?”

“But all Death Eater activity was eliminated in the first few years after Voldemort’s death. Who’s left to hold a grudge against Malfoy who isn’t already dead or in Azkaban?”

“Hmm. You seem pretty intent on nailing Malfoy down as the culprit. Isn’t there anyone else?”

“I don’t know yet. Malfoy was behaving more like a suspect than a victim. He acted like a madman, Hermione, when Scully and Mulder came to take the samples. Accused me of carrying out a vendetta against Death Eaters. As if he was hoping I’d get squeamish and let go of it. Maybe it all has been a ruse.”

“You don’t know that yet.”

“No place but Malfoy’s to find out. I guess I’ll have to interview him first thing tomorrow morning.”

Hermione carefully placed her hand on Harry’s arm. “Don’t be too harsh with him, Harry. You’re disappointed, but don’t let it affect your professionalism.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry.” Harry appreciated her concern, but he wasn’t in the mood to be analysed. What good would it do to dig into why he felt let down by Malfoy’s behaviour from yesterday morning?

Besides, it wasn’t just the case that needed solving. There was also the point of saving Malfoy’s arse – for now.

“Hermione?”

She looked at him. “I’m afraid I know what you’re about to say. And --”

“You know I can’t hand this over to the Aurors. Not until I know for sure.”

“I ... oh, Harry ...” She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. “You’re right. It’s just that ... I’m afraid that one day, you’re going to take it too far.”

“I can’t let them have him. No matter how stupid he acted yesterday, it wouldn’t be fair. If I let them take over, he’s done.”

She nodded. “What do you have in mind?” 

Harry shrugged. “Keep it secret for now and fill in the details as I go along. I’ll think of something.”

 

**Wednesday, 23rd August, 2017, 8:00 a.m.**

_Almost like another case of Death Eaters._ Harry couldn’t get it out of his head. The notion that Malfoy could have gone back to his old ways still stung. Or maybe he had been simply taken by surprise, too angry and anxious about the consequences of losing his contract with Eeylops? 

After kicking Teddy out of bed, again, Harry Flooed to his office and left a message for Scully and Mulder, telling them that he would catch up with them later. Then he Apparated directly to Malfoy’s. 

Malfoy was in his kitchen, supervising the house-elves who busied themselves tidying the already sparkling clean place. When he saw Harry at the door, he sent the elves away.

“Morning, Potter. Have you come to tell me the results of your investigation? Or are you here to close down this place for good?”

Malfoy couldn’t know how close he’d come to the truth. Unless he suspected something. Remembering Hermione’s words about justice and legal rights and his own intention not to condemn the man before he had all the facts together, Harry forced his brain into a professional, neutral mode and gritted his teeth. Just because Malfoy acted like an obnoxious git, Harry wouldn’t let himself be goaded and jump to conclusions. 

“No. I’ve come to ask you some questions.”

Draco scowled and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Where I have been over the weekend? If I have any witnesses? Sorry, Potter, but like I told you less than twenty-four hours ago, I’ve been working all weekend preparing food. Food that I had to hit with a stasis charm yesterday morning to keep it from falling apart. Not that I’ll be able to sell it. I’d either ruin my name with less than top-class pastries or my name will have been ruined by then in the wake of what you’d call an investigation. I’d rather call it a disaster.”

Harry felt a twinge of guilt that was quickly overridden by anger. For all his paranoia about unfair treatment, Malfoy clearly didn’t know what was at stake for him. 

“I’m not interested in your antics, Malfoy, so just stop it. I know what you told me yesterday. I might also remind you that house-elves don’t count as witnesses. But that’s not why I’m here today. I’m interested in your meat process.”

“My meat process?”

“Yes, Malfoy. How do you process the meat for your dishes?”

To Harry’s relief, Malfoy actually cooperated. He showed Harry the storage rooms and the grinder to make his own mincemeat for sauces and pastry-fillings. He pulled out sheets of parchment and Harry took down the names of the meat distributors who delivered to Malfoy. Malfoy ordered his meat and fish directly from the wizarding food market in London. He would usually leave early in the morning, visit the market and place his orders, then go home and decide on the menu for the day. Harry couldn’t find anything fishy in the process. Above all, the rooms and all instruments were sparkling clean. 

“Malfoy’s Bon Bites uses no processed food. We take only what is fresh and seasonal, to provide for the very best quality.” Malfoy indicated around the cooling room. 

Harry saw greens and fruits to provide for a small army. He even saw roses.

“What you see here is what I bought this morning. Here, smell those roses. They will taste just lovely with the crème brulée I have in mind.” Malfoy picked up one of the roses and waved it under Harry’s nose. He had lost all tension, clearly comfortable with his subject. 

“You bought food even though your restaurant is closed?”

Malfoy’s face fell and he put the rose away. “Of course I bought food. I have to keep track of what comes in, stay in touch with the merchants, listen to the latest news. If a hailstorm ruins the grape harvest, or if the fish at the coast gets contaminated by some ship-wreck catastrophe. Where to get the sweetest berries and whose cows are well kept. Did you expect me to sit idle until it’s all over?”

“Well, er-“

“I’m a chef, Potter, not an idiot who casts warming charms at pre-cooked dinners in a cafeteria!”

“I get that, Malfoy. And I’m sorry if I somehow insulted you.” Harry gritted his teeth. “I think I’ve seen everything in here. If you could simply show me the other rooms ...?”

Once they were back in the kitchen, Malfoy leaned against the counter and fixed Harry with a calculating stare. “So, now that you know enough to start your own restaurant, why the sudden interest in my meat process?”

“The samples from your place were contaminated.”

“Rat?”

“Yes. Do you have any idea how it could have happened?”

Malfoy had gone pale. “So it’s true. That’s ... that’s disgusting! The thought that I served-- Could you, could you narrow it down?”

“It was in every sample we took from the shepherd’s pie from Friday.”

“The shepherd’s pie? But that’s what you had!”

“I know.” Harry’s stomach lurched. “Could we please not talk about it? It gives me the creeps.”

“Yes, of course. I’m ... I’m so sorry, Potter. I’m glad you nailed it down so quickly. Can I get you something instead, to make up for it?”

“No, thank you. Do you have any idea how this could have happened?”

“I don’t want to-- no, I have no idea. Someone slipped rat into the meat delivery?” 

“Can you think of anyone who holds a grudge against you?”

Malfoy actually laughed. “Are you kidding me, Potter? Do you know anyone who doesn’t?”

“Now, come on, you do have friends, and acquaintances.”

“Do you have any idea how many people hate me, either for the success I have or for the role my family played in the war? Do you have any idea how many people hate me for both? People don’t forget who used to be a Death Eater, or who has a Dark Mark. Don’t kid yourself thinking you can narrow down your list of suspects that way.”

“You know I have to take all aspects into account, even if I don’t think them likely.”

“So, humour me, Potter. Maybe there’s something wrong at the other end of the meat process?”

“Not very likely. We only found traces of rat in the shepherd’s pie from Friday. Was anything different with your meat process on Friday, Malfoy?”

“No. Friday was a day like any other.” Malfoy folded his arms over his chest. The calculating stare was back in his eyes.

“Thought you’d say that.” Harry shrugged. It seemed like Malfoy’s hour of cooperation was coming to an end. Harry steeled himself for what he had to do next. “Unfortunately, I have to inform you that your restaurant is officially closed until further notice.”

“No! Are you insane? Because one day you found rat?” 

So much for not handing Malfoy’s arse over to the Aurors; it gave Harry nothing but headaches and trouble. Surely, Malfoy didn’t act like a guilty man, but Harry knew that once a case was run by Aurors, the only chance for a suspect lay in their Galleons. If one was innocent, payment was the way to stay out of Azkaban. If one was guilty, money meant a few more weeks of investigation before being shipped off. But if the suspect was a former Death Eater, they stood no chance, no matter how many Galleons they offered. Most Aurors would take the money, laugh at the suspect for trying, and charge them with bribery for their trouble. 

Best not get too invested. Best not let Malfoy get his hopes up either by telling him more. “No. Because we can’t trace the one day of rat to anything that might have caused it. And unless you want one of us living here and testing every single bite of meat that passes into your damn pastries, this place is closed. Got me?” 

Malfoy pressed his lips together so tightly that a white line formed around his mouth. “I get it, Potter. I get it completely.” He exhaled sharply. “What about _Chez Zabini_?”

“What about it? Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Did you find rat at his place, too?”

“I can’t discuss that part of the investigation with you.” Harry glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go now. I’ll need to be able to find you, in case we need more information. I trust you’ll be around.”

The last thing Harry saw before the pull of Apparition took hold of him was Malfoy’s glaring face, his eyes narrow with anger.

 

**Thursday, 24th August, 2017, 12:07 p.m.**

On Thursday, Harry still had no clue. They’d found four more cases of rat, but at no other place had the food contained human flesh. Malfoy’s case was special. On one hand, Hermione’s objection that Malfoy was no killer sounded almost convincing. On the other hand, Malfoy had confirmed that he alone controlled his food process. Unless someone had smuggled human meat into his meat delivery, there was no other conclusion than that Malfoy must be the culprit. But why would Malfoy want to risk the life he had built for himself? A life and profession he was obviously proud of? Maybe he had been forced to go back to his old ways for whatever reason. He hadn’t been a killer at seventeen, but could he have become one sixteen years later? Something didn’t make sense.

Harry was turning around every aspect of the case and getting nowhere when the fireplace in his office flared and Hermione’s voice sounded through the flames.

“Harry, are you there?”

“Yes.” He was on his feet in an instant. “Do you have news on the case?”

She scrambled through in no time. “You won’t believe what I found. It’s not just human. There’s Muggle and wizard!”

Harry’s curiosity spiked, even though he couldn’t help being amused by Hermione’s obvious enthusiasm. “Care to explain?”

“Yes, of course.” Hermione sat down and poured herself a cup of tea. “When I was looking at the data again, I noticed a slightly different form of the human marker line between the various samples you took from Malfoy. The one you took of the shepherd’s pie from Friday was a little frayed, almost like it was buzzing, you know? The sample you took on Monday was straight. Then I looked at the reference case: another frayed line. First, I couldn’t explain it. Then, I had a hunch.”

“And once you have a hunch ...”

“... there’s no stopping me.” Hermione smiled at their old punch line. “All right. So I fire-called the morgue and asked them to send me samples.”

“The morgue? Samples?”

“Samples of dead humans. Or to be more precise: samples of dead wizards and Muggles. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not that squeamish, and they’re dead anyway! It turned out that I was right. Only the Friday sample is from a wizard. Magic is responsible for the frayed line. The Monday sample contains Muggle flesh.”

“So you’re saying that we have at least two different cases, one containing Muggle flesh and another one containing flesh from a wizard? While the wizard case is the one that is rat-infested as well.”

Hermione nodded.

“And moreover, we have six cases of simple rat contamination altogether.”

“Just rat? No human flesh?” Hermione asked.

“Just rat.”

“Harry, could you give me a sample of each of the rat cases? Right now?”

“Another hunch?”

“Yes. I won’t take long.”

He took her directly to the lab.

Half an hour later, Hermione flicked a loose strand of hair from her face. Harry and his team were gathered around her. 

“I knew it! Harry, this is your case: You’ve got six cases of rat contamination. You have one case with a dead Muggle in Malfoy’s food from Monday. And you’ve got another case of a dead wizard in Malfoy’s food from Friday.”

“Which is also contaminated with rat.”

“Well, it kind of isn’t.” She beamed at him. “It’s not just rat. The rat marker line has the same kind of frayed edge as the human marker line from the same sample. Which means--”

“It’s magical!” concluded Harry. “Magical rat. In Malfoy’s sample of the dead wizard. Of course! It’s – Hermione, you’re a genius! – it’s a rat Animagus!”

Scully jumped to her feet. “I’ll check the Animagus register for rat Animagi!”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Hermione. “There’s no rat Animagus currently registered.”

“Wormtail?” Harry asked.

“Yes, I think so.”

The pieces of the puzzle began coming together in Harry’s mind. So they had six cases of rat contamination unconnected to Malfoy, and two cases of human flesh in food, which were both connected to Malfoy. After he had served five years in Azkaban, Peter Pettigrew’s wand had been broken and he had disappeared from the wizarding world. No one had heard of him again until now, when he had ended up in Malfoy’s shepherd’s pie. 

“Nothing different with his meat process last Friday, my arse,” Harry murmured to himself.

Malfoy must have encountered Pettigrew somehow after the war. Maybe Pettigrew had tried to blackmail Malfoy, or threatened him in some other way. Maybe he had found out about the Muggle that Malfoy had used as a pastry ingredient. Merlin knew how long all this had been going on.

It was time to call the Aurors and hand over the case. According to Ministry procedures, he should have called them two days ago. It would be on his head if someone got wind of it. But there was still a tiny chance for a different explanation, something Malfoy hadn’t told him for whatever stupid, self-serving reason. Harry still needed to hear it all from Malfoy himself before he was willing to set the Aurors on him. 

There was only one way to find out: Harry had to go back and talk to Malfoy.

 

**Thursday, 24th August, 2017, 2:28 p.m.**

“You will not! This is a betrayal! I absolutely forbid you to talk about it!”

“Yes, Master Malfoy, please, Elfie would never, never betray her master. You knows this, Master, please!”

Standing in a shadowy corner of the house right under one of the open kitchen windows, Harry could hear loud banging and howls of pain. The racket was incredible.

“I know. Now, stop hurting yourself,” came Malfoy’s cold, dispassionate voice. 

Harry almost snorted. As if Malfoy cared about his elf.

“It’s just, that, kind Master, sir ...? Sir, may Elfie speak?”

Malfoy stayed silent. 

Elfie drew a shuddering breath. “It might be better to tell the inspector about the grinder, sir.”

A loud bang, as if a pot had been knocked over. “If you don’t want me to give you socks, you will obey me. You will not ever bring that up again. Now, go and see to your tasks. And don’t--” 

Another loud bang interrupted Malfoy’s words. 

“--punish yourself. I need you in one piece.”

“Yes, Master Malfoy, sir, you is too kind.”

Elfie scurried out of the kitchen door and across the yard, and Harry decided to make his appearance. He wouldn’t get any more information from hanging around Malfoy’s yard, and the danger of Malfoy or his elf seeing him and getting suspicious was starting to rise.

Malfoy was as unresponsive and tight-lipped as on Harry’s last visit. He claimed to have no idea about Pettigrew’s whereabouts, denied having met the man at all after the war, and demanded to know how Harry’s questions would help him find the rat in his meat. Which was just what he’d do, had he murdered the man. On the other hand, it was no proof that Malfoy was guilty. Harry suppressed the impulse to pummel him into cooperating. It was no use. But at least he had a record of Malfoy’s answers and would be able to prove that Malfoy had denied everything.

“Peter Pettigrew? You’re looking for that cheating bastard that grovelled at the Dark Lord’s feet? What do you need him for? And why should I know where to find him?”

“I think you should answer my questions, if you want to show that you’re trying to help this investigation instead of hindering it. You wouldn’t want that Malfoy, would you?”

Malfoy’s face contorted into a sneer. They were back to fighting as if the last seven years had been wiped from their memories. 

“Of course not, _Inspector_ Potter. I’m a good little tamed Death Eater now. We only bite if we get paid for it.”

“Just answer the questions, Malfoy, and I can get out of here.”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time, coming from you. So, no, I haven’t seen or heard anything from Pettigrew since the end of the war. Hell, I didn’t even know if he was tried and how it ended. I was busy rescuing what your lot had left.”

A sound at the door startled them both. There stood Elfie, clutching at her little tea cosy. 

Before Harry had the chance to utter a single word, Malfoy bore down on her. “And you get back to your work! I don’t remember that cleaning the oven takes less than three hours.”

Elfie sobbed loudly, threw a desperate look at Harry and vanished on the spot. 

“Nice manners, Malfoy. Always treating your house-elves like you should. Taking good care that they don’t feel too comfortable around you.”

Malfoy whirled around and took several long strides in Harry’s direction. “I remember being told that this was a visit connected to your current case, not a regular investigation of my business. So, are you done, _Inspector_?”

Harry took a last, completely fake look at his sheet of questions. “That’s all for now, Malfoy. I’ll see myself out, thank you.”

Malfoy answered with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How very considerate of you. Don’t take anything on your way out. I know they don’t pay you well.” 

Harry knew the last remnants of his self-control were slipping, and so he turned on the spot and strode towards the back door, feeling Malfoy’s eyes follow him all the way, as if Malfoy wanted to burn a hole between Harry’s shoulders just by watching him go. 

Back in the yard, Harry didn’t Apparate immediately, but decided to walk around towards the front gates. He could have hunches, too. That was how he noticed the house-elf.

“Elfie? It’s Elfie, isn’t it?”

She shrank back even further into the corner she had been standing in, nodding miserably. Her ears were covered in bandages.

“What happened to you? Did you hurt yourself?”

She nodded again and hung her head. “Elfie is clumsy, Master Health Inspector Potter, sir. She gets her ears into the oven.”

“I could heal it for you, Elfie. Would you let me do that?”

“Oh no, sir, you mustn’t do it!” she screeched. “Elfie would be a bad elf for accepting such an offer, she would!”

“Hush! No need to shout. Hush ...”

“Hush ...” she repeated, lowering her voice.

“Elfie? I have to ask you a question. It’s in your master’s best interest that you tell me truth. Will you do that?”

“Is Master Malfoy in trouble, sir?”

“He is, and it could get worse if you don’t help me to help him.”

Her huge eyes widened even more. “Elfie doesn’t want him to be in trouble. He’s a kind master. He doesn’t trust--“ She threw her hands around her own thin neck and started to squeeze hard.

Harry snatched her hands and pulled them down. “It’s all right. Don’t punish yourself!”

She struggled for a moment, then went limp in his grip. “Thank you, sir.”

“Listen, Elfie. Has anything unusual happened in the last few days? A visitor, maybe? Someone who came and threatened your master?”

She shook her head. “No, Master Health Inspector Potter, sir. Sorry, sir. Elfie doesn’t know of anything like that. Master Malfoy just went about his business of running the restaurant. He’s a good master. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

She was trembling from head to toe. Harry gently released her, knowing that he wouldn’t get anything else out of her. No matter where she’d got the injuries to her ears, she wouldn’t tell him anything except that ‘Master Malfoy’ was someone who deserved perfect loyalty. Her statement was useless. Harry’s hopes aside, it would neither incriminate nor exonerate Malfoy.

House-elves. There was a reason why they weren’t accepted as witnesses in an investigation.

**Friday, 25th August, 2017, 11:36 p.m.**

Friday was mostly uneventful. Scully and Mulder had taken and analysed the last of the samples, all – thankfully – with negative results. This meant that wherever rats had entered the system, they had all the places noted down. Harry had instructed Scully and Mulder to place traps at the affected restaurants and to analyse the connected sewers. He had sneaked out of the office to make a secret call to the Muggle police on his mobile, but no one had been reported missing. Their case was, at least officially, still a health care case.

Unfortunately, this meant that Harry still had no clue about the identity of the miserable Muggle who had been used as a pastry ingredient or if he or she was connected in any way to Peter Pettigrew. Hell, he didn’t even know if he was looking for one or more abducted Muggles. The case was threatening to split up in at least two, maybe more cases; and he still had no reason to believe that he was close to solving any of them. On top of that, he had no other suspect apart from Malfoy, who for all his uncooperative behaviour might be a victim as well as a suspect.

The only bright spot was Brisbane’s visit shortly before the end of the day. He had investigated the hissing sink over the last three days and was about to open the entrance to the sewers. The man was nothing but thorough, if maybe a little slow. 

“Oh, and the guy who’d filed the complaint about the noisy old warehouse? I’d run an interview with him on Tuesday. And then he owled this morning and thanked me for taking care of the problem so quickly.”

“What did you do?”

Brisbane chuckled. “Nothing, sir. The noise must have stopped on its own.”

“Self-solving cases – I only wish we had more of them.”

“Shall I go and interview him on the details?”

Harry shook his head. “There’s no need. Just fill in the appropriate form and close the case. Could you squeeze it in before you leave? I might need you on the restaurant case next week.”

Brisbane’s eyes widened for a moment and he sat up a little straighter. “Sure. That’d be great. Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry nodded and watched Brisbane leave.

He stayed in the office long after everyone else had gone. On a normal Friday, he would have taken the last of his paperwork for the day to finish it at Malfoy’s Bon Bites. His stomach felt queasy, and he realised that he was hungry. Was it past ten already? He closed his files and left the office. A Chinese takeaway took care of his hunger, but his restlessness wasn’t so easily satisfied. It was a bit of a lonely evening, and so he decided to take a walk. The night was beautiful, and he needed to clear his head, a calming distraction from the case that was threatening to consume him. 

He strolled idly along, until he realised that he had taken the familiar path towards Malfoy’s Bon Bites. What could he say? Old habits died hard. The red tape that closed the restaurant was still in place, but there was a dim light coming from Malfoy’s kitchen. Harry stealthily made his way to the yard.

He peered through the kitchen window. Malfoy stood at the counter, moving the knife in his hand rapidly through something Harry couldn’t see. He moved with such precision and efficiency that Harry couldn’t keep his eyes away. It looked deadly, and beautiful. Harry always enjoyed watching someone who knew their handiwork, and to look at Malfoy felt like watching a cabinet maker carving a table or an artist drawing a picture. Harry stood outside Malfoy’s kitchen, while Malfoy prepared a meal, complete with starters, main course and dessert. Whenever a dish was finished, Malfoy picked up an appropriate plate or bowl, arranged the food and added a touch of decoration. He had moved one of the tables from the restaurant into the kitchen. It was set for one person, complete with a white tablecloth, place mat, and various glasses and cutlery. 

Finally, Malfoy was done cooking. He placed all the food on the table, carefully arranging the plates and bowls. Candles floated above the table, and with the light from the workstation gone, it was such a cosy sight that Harry felt a fuzzy warm feeling in his stomach. His mouth started to water, even though he wasn’t certain if he really smelled the food or if the sensation was due to his imagination. 

Malfoy sat down, still in his impeccably white apron, and looked at the food for a long time. Just as Harry began to wonder why Malfoy didn’t start eating, he suddenly stood up, extinguished the candles with a wave of his wand, and left the room.

 

**Saturday, 26th August, 2017, 11:00 a.m.**

The alarm clock rang on Saturday at nine. It felt way too early. Teddy was still out on the sofa, of course, and Harry turned around in his bed. 

When Hermione fire-called Harry’s flat at half past ten, her voice had the kind of urgent quality she only used in cases of extreme emergency. Like being late to a family brunch at the Weasleys.

To Molly’s utter delight, Harry and Teddy made it to the Burrow at eleven precisely, even though Harry’s hair was still wet at the nape of his neck and Teddy wore two mismatched socks. But no one could see them under Teddy’s robes and shoes. Besides, Harry thought to himself, Dobby would have loved it.

Ron and Hermione were there, as was George with Angelina and Percy with Audrey, and all their respective children were running around. The noise was incredible, but in spite of his rude awakening, Harry couldn’t stop feeling great. The Weasleys were the closest thing to a family he would ever have, and after seven years, he could even talk to Ginny without too many harsh feelings left between them.

“Guess who’s here, Uncle Harry?” piped up George’s daughter Roxanne. She didn’t allow Harry time to properly guess, but continued, “It’s Aunt Luna. She’s back from the Fishy Islands!”

Hermione laughed. “It’s the Fiji Islands, dear. And here’s Luna.”

The first thing Harry saw were Luna’s legs sticking out from under the sofa. Then her upper body and head appeared as she slowly wriggled backwards on the floor. 

“And they walk like that all day long?” questioned Molly, Percy’s eldest.

“No. That wouldn’t be practical, would it? Only for the rituals.” Luna stood up and brushed the dust bunnies off her trousers. “Oh, hi, Harry! Nice to see you.”

“How are you, Luna?” Harry pulled her into a friendly hug. 

“I’ve just returned from an expedition. It was fascinating. I’ve seen lots and lots of fire-snakes, and even two Fiji Petrels, _Pseudobulweria macgillivrayi_. And I’ve witnessed the ancient magical rituals on Mount Tomanivi to honour the river gods.”

It was a wonderful family event, and Harry was glad that he and Teddy had made it on time. Luna told tales of her expedition, Percy prattled on about Ministry regulations, George gave out free samples the adults were wary of accepting, while the children tried to trick each other into testing them, and Molly urged everyone to take second and third helpings. It was great to have time for a long chat with Ron. 

Of course, at one point, Hermione pulled Harry aside and demanded to know how his investigation was coming along. He filled her in on the details. He always felt a little uncomfortable about discussing work in a private setting. Hermione, on the contrary, knew no such restraints. Harry secretly suspected that she wasn’t able to tell the difference.

“A case of human cannibalism?” Luna piped up, joining their conversation. “That’s interesting! But it wouldn’t be on the menu, would it?”

“Luna! No, of course not.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Don’t think it’s that far fetched, Hermione,” Luna said. “I know what you think of unusual practices, but the Quibbler once reported on a cult who ate their deceased. The called themselves Lovers United in Death.”

“You know about the Lovers United in Death?” Harry asked. “That was the reference case that helped us to identify the human flesh in my investigation.”

“Like I said, my father wrote an article about them. In fact, he released a special issue of the Quibbler about how we deal with death. Don’t you think that usually people are too shy to talk about it? Look at people’s fear of Thestrals, or at the tale of the Deathly Hallows. Like death was something so unusual.” Luna’s eyes had that dreamlike quality that always indicated that her mind was wandering to strange places. Then she shuddered a little and took a firm sip of her gillywater. “It was the first issue of the Quibbler my father printed after my mum’s death. Must have been his way to deal. He always dealt better if there was something to put his mind to.” 

Hermione gave her a sympathetic nod and mentioned Muggle methods on counselling. The two women launched into a lively discussion of Muggle-wizarding relations, while Harry let his mind and ears wander. 

Arthur had involved Teddy in a conversation about what he wanted to do after his interim job as a delivery boy.

“I don’t know, yet, Uncle Arthur. Right now, I just want to earn enough money to have my own flat. It’s not a job I want to keep forever, but it’s a good change after studying so hard for N.E.W.T.s, you know?”

Arthur chuckled. “I bet it is. Harry told me they’re working you pretty hard, don’t they? Early hours and such. You look like you could use a lot more sleep.”

Teddy sighed. “Last week was insane. I didn’t know I could be that tired. But I think I’m getting used to it – this week already felt less tiring. And you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen. We practically race across the whole country – the Knight Bus is nothing to us! And I still don’t understand the priorities of some people. Just last week, I was at Malfoy’s restaurant.”

Teddy had seen Malfoy last week? Harry’s interest spiked up immediately. With a short nod he left Luna and Hermione to join Arthur and Teddy on the sofa. 

“It was early on Monday morning, our first delivery,” Teddy continued, “and Malfoy was there and it was all ‘Hurry up’ and ‘Keep your voice down’ – just to change a grinder. His old one was broken, and he was making a huge fuss. Said he had a large job coming and couldn’t do it all by hand. We took the old one with us right away.”

Harry couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Where did you take it to?”

Teddy shrugged. “Just down to the scrap metal trader. He takes stuff like that.”

“You said the old one was broken?”

“I guess so. That’s what Malfoy said. Do you think it wasn’t?”

“What did he use to grind the meat with instead?”

“I have no idea.” Teddy gave him an odd look. “Uncle Harry, if you treat family like that, I hope I’ll never be one of your suspects.”

Harry laughed politely, but his heart wasn’t in it. He felt antsy. If Malfoy had a new grinder, and the old one had been broken, how had he managed to grind his mincemeat? One thing was certain: Malfoy had not told the whole truth. And Harry would have to question him one more time. 

 

**Saturday, 26th August, 2017, 4:38 p.m.**

It was already early afternoon when Harry left the Burrow. Teddy had gone home to catch a few more hours of sleep, while Harry went back to Malfoy’s place. This time, he knocked at the front door. Elfie opened.

“Master Malfoy is not at home, Master Health Inspector Harry Potter, sir.”

“Oh.”

“And Elfie didn’t tell him about the questions you asked.” She cocked her head, almost coquettishly. Amused at the idea of a house-elf trying to flirt with him, Harry decided to push his luck.

“Would you mind me asking a few more questions, Elfie? You could help me, and your master. You would like to do that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Mr Health Inspector Harry Potter, sir, Elfie would.” She nodded eagerly, her big ears flapping around her face, then cocked her head again.

“Master Malfoy’s delivery boy told me he bought a new meat grinder,” Harry started matter-of-factly. 

She was listening, her big eyes fixed on his mouth. 

“Do you know what happened to the old grinder?”

She wrung her hands, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “Mr Health Inspector Harry Potter, please, Elfie cannot say, she mustn’t betray, please ... Master Malfoy is a kind master, yes, Elfie swears it.”

Harry silently cursed himself, remembering Malfoy’s words. “Elfie, hush ... I’m sorry. I overheard your conversation with Mr Malfoy. The one where he told you not to speak about the grinder. Do you understand me?”

She nodded, obviously distraught.

“So you can’t speak about the grinder. You don’t want to betray your master.”

Frantic nodding.

“You want to be a good elf, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Elfie wants to be a good elf, she does.”

“How did you make your mincemeat last week?”

She was trembling all over now. 

“Tell me, Elfie. I know you want to help your master. You want to be a good elf, don’t you?”

“Yes. Elfie would never betray Master Malfoy. She just tells you, tells you ... this. This only, only one thing.”

Harry didn’t dare make the tiniest sound.

“Our meat process, Master Health Inspector Harry Potter, sir, our mincemeat ... we usually make it ourselves, with the meat Master Malfoy buys at the food market. But last week ... last week we had to buy our mincemeat pre-packaged, because ... no ... we don’t have to buy it anymore, now, because we’ve got a delivery this Monday.”

“But you bought it last week. The mincemeat.”

“Yes, Master Health Inspector Harry Potter, sir. We bought it last week.” 

“Which days exactly?”

“Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, Master Health Inspector Harry Potter, sir.” Her voice was still low, but she had stopped shivering.

Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. To be used on Wednesday, Friday and over the weekend. Harry felt his shoulders sag as the tension slipped from him.

“Thank you, Elfie. You’ve been a good elf to Mr Malfoy. A very good elf indeed.”

 

**Saturday, 26th August, 2017, 9:38 p.m.**

Saturday evening, Malfoy went through the same procedure. Cooking, preparing the dishes on the table, sitting and staring into space, then leaving without ever taking a bite. Harry watched him, but he didn’t feel like interrupting. Malfoy needed to be left in peace over the weekend. 

The interview could wait until Monday.

 

**Sunday, 27th August, 2017, 10:04 p.m.**

On Sunday, after setting the table for one as he’d done on the days before, Malfoy opened the kitchen door. “You could either stand there and continue watching me through my kitchen window like you did last two days or come in and have a meal. What will it be?”

Harry hesitated. Malfoy was still a suspect in an investigation, and he still had to interrogate him on the subject of the grinder. On the other hand, he was curious about what had changed Malfoy’s mood. “You knew?”

“Not for sure. Until now.” Malfoy grinned and then gestured for Harry to follow him inside. “Afraid I’d poison you, Potter?”

Harry shrugged. “Not bloody likely. You’d be the first suspect.” He pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning against and walked over the threshold into the kitchen.

Malfoy had prepared grilled prawn and scallop kebabs for a starter. The main dish consisted of rack of lamb in a crust of mushrooms with a fruity sauce on the side. Malfoy informed Harry that they were wild mushrooms and the fruity sauce was called a currant reduction. The lamb came with roast corn custard and greens sautéed with a touch of garlic. Malfoy finished his creation with a three-chocolate mousse terrine that consisted of layers of dark, milk and white chocolate mousse, served with very crispy, thin curled biscuit. Harry admired the layers before he whisked a biscuit through them. 

Everything tasted delicious. When Harry finally laid his dessert spoon aside, his hunger not only was satisfied, but he had also enjoyed a companionable evening, with the peculiar addition that Malfoy sat and watched him eat. He and Malfoy had carefully stuck to small talk mostly, as if both of them were reluctant to destroy their precarious peace. Considering how they had parted from their last encounter, the whole dinner right from Malfoy’s invitation on was short of a small miracle. Unless Malfoy had a reason for moving back to more civilised terms.

Harry took a sip of water. “This was, let me repeat it, simply delicious. You’ve outdone yourself tonight.”

Malfoy took the compliment with one of his little mock bows, like they had never argued. “I’m glad to be of service.”

Harry remembered yesterday’s brunch in Molly’s kitchen, and the question simply slipped from his tongue. “This is something I’ve always wanted to ask. Why don’t you use magic?”

“What do you mean? I use magic all the time.”

“Of course you do, but never in the kitchen. I mean, not while you’re cooking. Do you?”

“It would ruin the result. That’s why.”

“But ... I don’t get it. Molly does it all the time. She’s charmed her pans and spoons and everything. I’ve no idea how else she would manage. You have all the house-elves to help, but you never charm a spoon.”

Malfoy snorted. “Molly Weasley – now that’s a comparison I could have done without. Oh, stop glaring at me, Potter! I know that the Weasleys will always hold the top spot in your book of wizarding culture. I didn’t say that you can’t cook that way: apparently, Molly Weasley has never poisoned anyone with her cooking. At least no one we know of.”

He paused and studied Harry for the effect of his words. Getting none, he stood, walked over to the huge stove and lifted the lid of a large pot. “Come over here and have a look at this stew. It’s been simmering for the last few hours to give it an extra rich flavour.” Malfoy dipped a stirring spoon into the pot and swirled it lightly. “Every now and then, I had to check and to stir it just a little, to make sure that I’d get the desired effect. My own judgement, you see, makes all the difference. A cook can use timed charms for stirring and for cutting, too, but it won’t be the same, because no two onions are the same, and a charm won’t adjust. In this way, cooking is very similar to potions. Anyone could set a decent stirring charm, but the result will never reach perfection.”

“Perfection. Everything to you is about perfection.”

Malfoy was still stirring the contents of the pot. A strand of his hair hung loose, the blond tips just touching his cheeks. A fleeting, absent-minded smile played around his lips. “Of course it is. Perfection is the only way to redeem oneself.”

A sudden heat flashed in Harry’s cheeks. Was it the steam coming from the pot or had Malfoy’s words caused them? How strange of Malfoy to connect cooking with redemption. Could someone like Malfoy ever find redemption? And what did it mean to live like that, when whatever you did could never be enough to feel safe? When your existence was so fragile that you forgot how it felt to trust anyone at all?

It would be wise to change the subject, to talk about something that made Malfoy feel more comfortable. 

Harry cleared his throat. “How are your parents these days? Do you see them often?” 

“And now for something completely different.” Malfoy put away the spoon and closed the lid of the pot again, then reduced the heat of the flame. “Subtlety has never been your strong suit, though I appreciate the effort.” He gestured towards the table and then took a few steps in that direction, but remained standing, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “They live a quiet life in France. We Floo-talk, owl birthday cards, and I spend Christmas with them.”

“Couldn’t you sell a lot of tables at that time of year?”

“I might. But then, the year has enough days as it is. My parents’ days are-- well, I guess all our days are ... limited.”

It was a lesson that everyone who had lived through the war knew by heart. 

Draco’s gaze travelled over his cooking utensils as he continued talking. “I try to keep them ... maybe not happy, but ... content. Take a walk through the gardens with my mother. Brew a potion with my father – he still enjoys doing that. It was something we used to do every year for my birthday before I went to Hogwarts. It’s a relief to know that they live someplace where they can be at peace.”

Someplace where no one would confront them with their past. Obviously, family was not the subject to take the conversation into lighter realms.

Malfoy paused, examining his nails. “Isn’t it strange how they grow old while we grow up? Of course, you wouldn’t know, would you?”

The cruelty was completely unexpected. Pain twisted Harry’s insides until he felt like a kitten being choked by a huge fist, and all he could do not to lunge at Malfoy was to dig his fingers into the fabric of his shirt until he felt his fingernails imprinted in his arms. 

Malfoy looked up, probably startled by the unnatural silence. One glance at Harry, and he cringed. “Damn, Potter, I’m sorry. That was ... highly uncalled for. I was clearly not paying attention enough to my words.”

Harry waved his apology away. “It’s all right.” Malfoy’s concern seemed genuine enough. “It’s been ... a long time. I shouldn’t let it get to me that much.”

“If you lose someone, it always feels like yesterday, no matter how much time has gone by.” Malfoy pushed his chin down and forward, a motion that stretched his skin taught over his cheeks. It gave his face a hollow, haunted look.

Crabbe. Parkinson. And probably he missed Snape, too.

Harry took a sip of water to get rid of the scratch in his throat. It wasn’t as if he was any good at comforting people, let alone Malfoy. He wasn’t even good at dealing with his own losses.

Malfoy produced a strained smile, a visible effort to pull himself together. “Okay, it seems like now it’s my task to change the subject. Wait a moment. I’m going to show you something.”

Malfoy disappeared and Harry sat around idly, getting more and more uncomfortable. He still had no idea why Malfoy had invited him in. And more so, he started feeling like the worst fraud in the world. He still planned on interrogating Malfoy, even after he had enjoyed his hospitality. Since he had no proof that Malfoy had been set up with the wrong meat, there was no way around the Aurors. He needed Malfoy to help him. So maybe getting back on speaking terms was helping the case after all? But maybe he shouldn’t wait until tomorrow to confront Malfoy. It was better to get it out and be done with it, so that they could deal with the aftershock. After all, Malfoy was likely to explode and dealing with catastrophes was a part of Harry’s job.

Malfoy came back a few minutes later, holding a plate and a box. He looked so exited that Harry didn’t have the heart to interrupt him. Malfoy sat down, placed the plate on the table and pulled a small grey cylinder from the box. Once he had put the cylinder in the middle of the plate, he took a box of matches from his pockets and lit the cylinder. 

Harry watched attentively. The fire died down quickly and left the tip of the cylinder gleaming red in the candlelit kitchen. Smoke rose from its tip and curled in the air, forming circles and holes, until Harry could see it clearly: a Dark Mark made of smoke, about the size of a honeydew melon.

“Isn’t it amazing? It’s part of our themed decoration for Halloween.” Malfoy’s voice was vibrating fondly.

The Dark Mark still lingering in the air made Harry’s task a lot easier. It was a relief to be honest about what he thought. “I think it’s disgusting and tasteless. You talk about the war and about how it changed people, and then you go and use this thing as a decoration. How? Doesn’t it make you feel like a hypocrite?” 

Malfoy tensed, and his eyes gleamed in the dim light like a cat’s. “And if I tell you that I ordered it from Weasleys Wizard Wheezes? Is that when the proof that I’m a heartless monster turns into a funny joke in less than a second?”

Harry felt his neck growing hot with embarrassment. It was a piece of humour worthy of the twins, and George had continued the joke shop in the spirit of Fred. 

His thoughts were a mess, and thinking more about the case or Malfoy’s intentions wouldn’t get him anywhere. He needed Malfoy, and he needed him out in the open. If he couldn’t shock Malfoy into revealing his secrets now, after they’d eaten together and shared some of their worries, after he’d embarrassed Malfoy and had been equally embarrassed by him, he wouldn’t stand a chance tomorrow. Besides, if he waited until tomorrow, Malfoy would start making assumptions and Harry’s betrayal would hurt him even worse, but he also would be better at recovering from the shock. So he pushed himself to go on talking.

“You’re right,” Harry said. “That you ordered it from George changes it, and I know that’s not fair. But then, what exactly is? It’s not fair that I came and watched you, either.”

“Just doing your job,” murmured Malfoy.

“Don’t,” said Harry. “Don’t interrupt me. Let me say what I have to say.”

Malfoy straightened up, his grey eyes bright in the candlelight, and did not say a word.

“I know what you did. I know what you didn’t tell me. I know that you had a new grinder delivered this past Monday, and that your old grinder broke down a week before that. I talked to Teddy, my godson; he’s the delivery boy who brought your new grinder.”

Malfoy’s crossed his arms again in front of his chest and pushed his chair a fraction away from the table, but he kept his silence.

“I also talked to your house-elf, Elfie. She didn’t tell me about the grinder; she’s very loyal, Malfoy. She’s a good elf. But you didn’t forbid her to talk about your meat process. I know that you had mincemeat delivered three times last week. Three times where someone could have smuggled contaminated meat into your restaurant. All I want to know from you is: Why did you lie to me? What’s so important that you have to hide it from me, blocking an official investigation?”

Harry stopped. The only sound in the room was Malfoy’s harsh breathing.

“Are you done, Potter?”

“Yes.”

“First, it’s none of your business what I do with my house-elf. So don’t even try to defend her from what you don’t know.” Malfoy held his jaw so tense that Harry almost couldn’t hear his words. 

“I wasn’t trying to--“

“Shut it. Just shut you damn mouth, Potter. You want to know why I lied? Why I didn’t _confide_ in you?” Malfoy spat out ‘confide’ as if the word left a foul taste in his mouth.

“I can guess. You tell me.”

“Do you know how much it takes to build up a reputation? Of course you don’t. You had yours handed to you right out of the cradle.” Malfoy’s face contorted into an ugly sneer. “It takes years, Potter. Malfoy’s Bon Bites has a stellar reputation. I couldn’t throw that away in a heartbeat. People rely on me to give them only the best hand-processed food. I couldn’t change the menu. I couldn’t tell Eeylops that my grinder was broken. I ordered a new grinder and I hoped that it would be delivered in time.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No, it wasn’t. Even though I fire-called every day, the delivery took a week. A whole week! They kept telling me that it was the agency’s fault. So I ordered mincemeat. Three damn times. Hoping every time it would be the last.” He drew a harsh breath. “There, you have it. I cheated. Again. I pretended to be something I wasn’t, because I couldn’t bear to let down my customers, because I was worried about the negative press. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing.” 

Malfoy threw his head back, a hacking sound coming from his throat. Harry realised with confusion that Malfoy was laughing, hard enough to draw tears from his eyes. He wiped them clean and looked at Harry.

“How could I ever think of winning against you?”

“It was never about--“

“I trusted you. I mean, not that we’ve been friends, not that we’ve talked that much. But you’ve come to my restaurant for years. You’ve brought your stupid files from work and your weirdo of a godson and the loves of your life, Granger and her weasel, to my place. You’ve told jokes and you’ve looked tired in my presence and you’ve talked to me like I was a real person, like I mattered. And every time you had to evaluate Malfoy’s Bon Bites you were decent about it. Like it didn’t matter that my file has this huge Dark Mark looming in the upper right corner. Like it didn’t matter that it still costs me trust points by default. And then, at the first sign that something might be strange, you go and investigate, close my place like I’m some kind of criminal, like you couldn’t care less what it would do to me, to my reputation. You just sent your inspectors. You didn’t even bother to talk to me first.”

Malfoy raised his hand and balled it into a fist, and for a moment Harry thought that he would try to throw a punch. But then, Malfoy let his arm fall, and it landed helplessly in his lap.

“You were supposed to be one of the good guys. You were supposed to care.”

“Malfoy, you stupid sod, don’t you get it? I do care. I cared enough to investigate on my own instead of handing your case over to the Aurors like I was supposed to do! I even risked the integrity of my team members. I didn’t bother talking to you first? Do you have any idea how it-- Oh hell, I don’t have time for this crap! You were being played. The delivery must have been delayed deliberately – I guess Teddy will be able to tell me plenty about how he crossed the country with a grinder. And the same person who is behind your late delivery had ample time to contaminate the mincemeat you ordered.”

Malfoy stared at Harry, his eyebrows drawn together with suspicion. “You believe I’m innocent?”

“I believe that you were anxious enough about your restaurant to hide that you ordered mincemeat for one week. But I do not believe you are behind the murders of Peter Pettigrew and at least one innocent Muggle. So, think, Malfoy. Is there anyone who hates you enough to set you up for murder?”

“Pettigrew? Muggle murder? What are you talking about, Potter? I thought you found rat in my food. You never mentioned human--. Is this why you grilled me on Pettigrew’s whereabouts a few days ago? And you couldn’t tell me--? I can’t believe that you treated me like a suspect.”

Harry quelled the impulse to hit himself for his tendency to speak before thinking. Or Malfoy for flying off the handle, again, in no time. He exhaled deeply. “Right, you don’t know about this. To be honest, around that time and after you’d almost ripped apart my investigators, I wasn’t willing to share what we’d found out. It might come as a surprise to you, but you _were_ a suspect. Plus, you _acted_ like one, too. I couldn’t simply declare you innocent without-- But from the clues I’ve got so far, it seems that you’re much more a victim than a murderer. And in that case, it’s my duty to protect you from further harm.” 

Malfoy glared at Harry. “So now that you know that I’m innocent, you’re ready to rescue me?” 

“Let’s say I’m willing to find whoever tried to set you up. Do you have any clues for me?”

“What about your godson? He was involved in the delivery.”

“Teddy? Don’t be daft!”

“Well? He is the son of a werewolf and that abnormal cousin of mine. That’s not the best pedigree, if you ask me.”

“Whereas your pedigree just led you to buying the wrong mincemeat instead of making your own with a bit of manual labour.” 

Malfoy huffed but didn’t object.

“Any real suspects?”

“I can’t think of someone who wouldn’t jump at the chance. But I guess you’d like a more manageable list.”

“Just the big baddies, Malfoy.”

Malfoy shook his head. “I’ll try to narrow it down. I’ll owl you the list tomorrow. All right? It’s been a long day, Potter.”

Harry looked at his watch. It was half past one going on two. “Right. You do that. And we’ll keep in touch.”

 

**Monday, 28th August, 2017, all day**

When Harry fumbled his way into the living room at six in the morning, Teddy was sitting on the sofa, sipping coffee and watching him. Four hours of sleep weren’t much, but Harry had had worse. 

Teddy waved a note at him. “’Teddy, do not leave the house. We have to talk. It’s important! Harry.’ Plus, you’ve underlined all of it three times, even your name. So I look for you and find you sleeping like a dead man. What’s up?” 

Harry groaned. “Could you, just for a start--?”

Teddy handed him a fresh cup of coffee. From the lack of coffee stains on the outside, he might even have rinsed it.

Harry took the cup with both hands and sipped gratefully.

“Teddy, what do you know about your delivery job? I mean, who hired you, exactly?”

Teddy shrugged. “ _We Beat Every Owl_. It’s a huge company. They do the individual contracts and just send us wherever we’re needed. Why the sudden interest?”

“You mentioned something about a delivery to Malfoy’s restaurant the other day. I think it might be connected to my case.”

“Uhuh. I’ll just owl in sick, and then you can ask away ... it’s only ... since I’ve started this job, I’m so tired that I don’t remember half of the stuff I’ve said or done.”

And it turned out that this was just the main part of Harry’s problem.

They spent all of Monday trying to retrieve what Teddy remembered of his delivery job. Harry tried everything short of Veritaserum. After all, he was looking for a murderer. Teddy did not complain. His answers, however, did not differ. And Veritaserum wasn’t going to help with memory loss.

At around six in the evening, Harry threw down his wand in defeat. “That’s it. I give up. I’m taking you to Hermione tomorrow morning.”

“What’s Aunt Hermione got to do with my delivery job? I mean, I know she wanted me to do something ‘more fitting for my future career’ but ...” Teddy left his sentence unfinished and unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. He had been yawning all day.

“You must have been placed under some kind of memory charm. I can’t tell whether they just Obliviated you, or if they added a Confundus Charm for good measure. I don’t want to risk doing Legilimency on you – I’ve never been that good at it. Hermione might know a different way, or someone who will be able to work around whatever they did to you.”

“All right. Poke away at my brain all day long.” Teddy grinned. 

Harry was glad that Teddy took it with such ease. But after fire-calling Hermione, he wasn’t sure how Teddy would react to his next request. Hermione had suggested that they’d see Healer Montgomery at St Mungo’s. He was a member of her research group, another Muggle-born who was developing methods to combine Muggle and magical methods of investigation. Where Hermione worked on charms and potions, Healer Montgomery’s area of expertise was the human brain. According to Hermione, he was wiz at Legilimency and experimented with ways to reverse memory charms.

“She told me that he would be able to diagnose what’s been done to you. Then he may apply an adapted form of Legilimency to work around it. They use it to communicate with comatose patients at St Mungo’s and the results are stunning, says Hermione. You might not get your memory back, but I could do an interrogation while he’s holding the connection. He even offered to see us tomorrow before his usual workday starts, to make it as quick as possible.”

Teddy grimaced. “I’m not sure I like it. It’s different if ... you know ... if I’m not there to hear what I say.”

“We could record the session, so that you would know. I would be there. No one would mess with your brain.”

“No one but you and this brain-wiz wizard, Monty Something.”

“Teddy, I know that it’s not a comforting thought. I won’t force you. But you might help to identify a murderer and save the reputation of an innocent man.”

“Malfoy? Since when do the Malfoys count as innocent?”

Harry groaned. “Not you, too. Isn’t it enough that Ron still feels competitive towards Malfoy? I’m not telling you that they were innocent in the war. All I’m telling you is that Malfoy has worked hard since then to earn recognition. I’m willing to leave some of the past behind.”

“Have you ever heard him talk about werewolves? Have you ever seen him look at me? He despises me and my parents. You should have seen his face when I brought him the grinder.”

“I have heard him talk. And I know he’s still prejudiced. But I also know that he has changed, and not just to serve his own interests. I’ve seen him care for ... for his house-elf. He tried to hide it. But I know Lucius Malfoy, and I can say without reservation that he would have never told a house-elf not to punish himself. I know that not even ... good people ... always treat their house-elves like they should. It might not look like much. But Draco Malfoy has changed. He deserves a chance. And he isn’t going to get one if I hand this case over to the Aurors before it’s solved.”

Harry paused. It was for Teddy to make up his mind. 

Teddy shrugged. “All right. I’ll do it. If it means so much to you.”

Harry had to swallow hard before he could voice his thanks.

 

**Tuesday, 29th August, 2017, 9:00 a.m.**

Montgomery’s methods were ground-breaking indeed. Harry had been able to interview Teddy about his last two weeks as a delivery boy. What he found cleared Malfoy’s name completely. It also left Harry with the most difficult task of his life.

“Hermione, what do I tell him?” Harry crumpled his paper cup into a ball. Teddy was still in recovery, with Healer Montgomery monitoring the process of letting his mind slip from lucid subconscious to a normal sleep. “He’ll wake up in a few more hours. Shall I tell him that he was an accomplice to murder?”

“You have to tell him the truth. He deserves it. He needs to know that he’s been tired because he spent half of his nights abducting homeless Muggles. Not to mention the rest of the work, delivering the meat to Malfoy and then doing the delivery jobs he remembers on top of it.”

“He’ll ... I don’t know ... he’ll be devastated.”

“He might be. But he deserves to know. He deserves to know that he’s been Imperioed, Obliviated and Confunded and that that’s the reason for his headaches. He might need counselling, but you can’t keep the truth from him.”

Harry cringed. “I know. It’s just that ... Hermione, I’m afraid to tell him. I want to chase down the people who did this to him and Malfoy, and I want to clear their names. But I’m afraid to talk to Teddy.”

“Would it help if I came with you?”

“You’d do that?”

She cuffed him on the shoulder. “Of course I would. Since when do you have reason to believe I’d abandon you when you need a friend?”

 

**Tuesday, 29th August, 2017, 09:54 a.m.**

Back in his office, Harry found that Malfoy still hadn’t sent him a list of suspects. He wouldn’t be able to speak to Teddy before late afternoon, and so he decided to pay Malfoy a short visit.

Malfoy was busy in the kitchen and offered Harry a coffee and a seat. “Good morning, Potter. Any news?”

Harry fell down on the chair. “You could say that.” He quickly informed Malfoy about the news on Teddy.

Malfoy whistled through his teeth. “Your godson! You don’t say.” 

“He’s innocent, Malfoy! Don’t you listen?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that whoever did this tried to get you as well? I mean, think about it. What if they placed a memory charm that would lift after a while, leaving Theodore with the illusion that he was behind it.”

“Must you always--? Oh, forget it! I guess you must. Do you have a list for me? Because no matter what Teddy told us, we still don’t have a name. The man wore a mask and gloves at all times.”

Malfoy shook his head. I don’t have a list. But I have a clue. “I’ve taken a closer look at the delivery bags. Here.” He pushed two bags towards Harry. “See for yourself.”

“See what exactly?”

“Don’t you know anything about your job, Potter? You’re a health inspector! Look at the indentations in the fabric.”

Harry turned the bags around. “They look the same to me.”

“That’s because you don’t pay attention to details. Remember what Snape said to us in his classes? It’s the details that matter. On this bag, the indentations are little ovals.” Malfoy’s finger trailed the fabric. “Whereas on the other bag, they are triangular.”

Now that Malfoy had showed him the differences, they were clear to see. “How did you find out?”

“When I used the new grinder for the first time, I realised that something was different. It’s not just a grinder. It also has a device to hold a bag so that the meat will fall directly into the bag. Then all you have to do is push a button and the bag is sealed, airtight.”

“Let me guess: the sealing is a little different.”

“Correct. They’ve altered the process so that the air gets sucked out faster, and it seals the bag faster, too. Ergo: different indentations.”

“And this is connected to our problem of finding a suspect, how exactly?”

“That’s the easy part.” Malfoy produced another bag. “This is one of the bags that came with the mincemeat I’d ordered. The indentations are the same as on our old grinder. All you have to do is to find out who still owns one of the old machines. There shouldn’t be too many of them around that still work. When I ordered the new grinder, the company told me that they had the new system installed shortly after I’d bought the old grinder. I should have waited just a little longer. But back then, Zabini already had gotten his, and I couldn’t let him take over.”

Harry felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That’s more than just a clue. That’s a real lead. Have you ever thought of working as an investigator?”

“I’d rather be a chef, thank you.” 

Malfoy looked radiant. Harry could smell a whiff of nutmeg and pumpkin coming off him. It reminded him that he had skipped breakfast this morning. His stomach gave a low rumble and his mouth started to water. Unfortunately, he couldn’t take care of his hunger right now; he had to hurry and brief Scully and Mulder on the news and to outline the next steps of the investigation before heading back to Teddy. His stomach rumbled again.

Malfoy grinned. On Harry’s way out, he pushed a pumpkin pastry into his hand.

 

**Tuesday, 29th August, 2017, 5:49 p.m.**

Teddy took the news better than Harry had hoped he would. Of course it came as shock to hear that he’d been part of a crime. But Harry assured him that he couldn’t be held responsible for what he’d done. He was to be treated as a victim and a witness, not as an accomplice to murder. After their talk, they sat in silence for a little while. Teddy would still have to stay in St Mungo’s for the night, and Harry left, glad to know that Teddy was safe and taken care of.

When he reached the office, Scully was packing up. “Hi, Inspector Potter. I’ve left the list with the names you requested on the table. We managed to narrow it down to three.”

One look at the list and Harry’s interest spiked up. One place was an old guy in Hogsmeade who lent his grinder to anyone who needed mincemeat. The next name on the list was Malfoy’s. And right under Malfoy’s name and address: _Chez Zabini_ , 24 Diagon Alley.

 

**Wednesday, 30th August, 11:03 a.m.**

Harry was pacing around his office. They had torn Zabini’s place apart, finding nothing but a shiny new grinder. Zabini had presented them with the invoice and a winning smile. The smile of someone who knew that he was getting away with something huge. 

But Harry couldn’t let him get away. Not with the attempt to ruin Malfoy, not with Teddy’s pain, and certainly not with double murder. The old grinder had to be somewhere. And every minute he wasted without a clue where to look was another minute for Zabini to get rid of the grinder for good. 

Of course Harry had asked Mulder to keep Zabini under surveillance. But someone as well connected as Zabini would find a way around it sooner or later. Better not sooner than later.

Harry listened to the voices of Scully and Brisbane, bickering as always, while he tried to recall the facts of his case. Brisbane was in the middle of a fire-call, while Scully kept nagging loudly about him being too slow. 

_I’m telling you, no, I can’t say yet when we’ll be able to get rid of all of them ... Yes, yes, they have to be caught and tested. All of them ... We had a rat infestation case that might be connected to your sink ... The details? Several restaurants were contaminated with sick rats, and they’re all connected to a closed off part of the sewers. The same part your sink is connected to as well ... Yes, the rats were sick ... In your sink? No, they were_ sick. _And they tried to come out of your_ sink _... Yes, I know it’s a lot of noise ... You’ve been very patient, madam ... I hope we’ll get the rest of them by the end of this week ... You’re welcome, madam ... Yes, I will do that, certainly ... Ten thirty tomorrow then ... Thank you very much for your cooperation, madam ... A good day to you, too._

Rat infestation. Muggles targeted as meat delivery for Malfoy’s place, the day after Malfoy’s old grinder had broken down. Wormtail as an Animagus who had fallen in with a group of homeless Muggles. He had recognised Teddy. Then, the second wizard had clubbed him over the head. 

Brisbane had finished the conversation and was now complaining to Scully about the noise she’d made. 

Noise.

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. They were all making so little sense and way too much noise.

Noise.

Something clicked into place: Brisbane’s case. The complaint about the old warehouse. Hadn’t Malfoy mentioned something about Zabini owning more than one place? Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was a clue.

Harry jumped to his feet and took the few steps to the assistant investigators’ office. 

“Brisbane? What was the name again of that old bloke, the one who complained about the noise in the old warehouse at Little Cobble Street?”

“The old bloke? Wait a second.”

Brisbane rifled through his papers. “His name is Jones, Hephaestus Jones, 35 Little Cobble Street. Are you paying him a visit? What for? The case is closed. I did everything by the book.”

“I know, Brisbane. I’ll explain later. Thanks for the information.” Harry nodded towards Scully. “You, come with me. I might need you to catch Zabini.”

Moments later, they were on their way outside to Apparate.

 

**Wednesday, 30th August, 2017, 11:11 a.m.**

Hephaestus Jones, 35 Little Cobble Street, owned a large boarhound that seemed to enjoy resting its head on Harry’s knee where it promptly stared drooling. A lot. Thankfully, Mr Jones also had a brilliant, if somewhat meandering, memory.

“Of course I remember the noise. It was the week before last. Almost every night about one or two it started. A cracking and screeching – you wouldn’t have believed your ears!”

“You said ‘every night’, Mr Jones?”

“I said _almost_ every night.”

“That would be which nights exactly? It is most important to us that you give us the correct dates.”

“Wait a moment; let me think ... All right. First night, that would have been Monday. See, I take the dog out for a last walk around midnight. Can’t sleep as much as I used to, you know? The dog’s just the same, we’ve grown old, both she and I. So I took her for a walk, and about half an hour later after we’d come home, which would have been around half past one the latest, I hear this nasty sound. My ears are still good, and I can tell you it hurt them a great deal. Had to calm down the dog, because her ears were hurting, too. And once she starts howling, oho, there’s no stopping her!” He chuckled fondly.

“Mr Jones, what about the other nights?” Harry pushed gently.

“The next one was Wednesday. I’d had apple pancakes and the house still smelled of them when I woke. Looked at my watch: half past two in the morning. The dog slept right through it this time. It was the pancakes. We take them with a sniffer of brandy, you know? Knocks her out every time.”

“And the--“

“Hasty, aren’t you, young man? All right, I’ll get to the third night, on Friday. I had called you that day to inform you of the noise, you remember that?”

Harry nodded, holding his tongue not to interrupt.

“So, on Friday evening I’d been arguing with my neighbour, Mrs Crocket. She’s always cranky on Fridays; it’s her cleaning day and she hates cleaning. She’d scolded me for letting the dog run right through her freshly raked garden. What could I do? The leash just slipped from my hand.”

“And the noise?”

“Well, yes, I heard it when I came back from talking to Mrs Crocket.”

“You came back from talking to Mrs Crocket?”

“I paid her a visit after I’d taken the dog for her midnight stroll.”

“Do you always visit Mrs Crocket that late at night?”

“Just on Friday nights. You know, to have a nightcap together and make up for the fighting. And while we said our goodbyes, that noise started again.” 

“So Mrs Crocket heard it, too?”

“Indeed she did. She said to me ‘Why don’t young people these days remember a well-cast Silencio?’ And I said to her that I had no idea. Do you know how to cast a Silencio, Mr ...?”

“Potter, Mr Jones. And I do know how to cast a Silencio. It’s quite a helpful spell.”

“Potter? You aren’t in any case related to Mr Harry Potter, are you? You look a little bit like him, if I may say so.”

“He’s a distant relative.” Harry suppressed a grin. “Let me just summarise for the report. That would have been Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night when you heard the noise. Is that correct?” 

“That’s correct.”

“Any other day?”

Mr Jones chewed his lip for a few moments and then shook his head. “No. Haven’t heard a squeak since. I owled your assistant to thank him for the good job.”

“Thank you, Mr Jones.”

They shook hands and left.

When they were safely out of earshot, Scully let out a groan. “Now, that one’s clearly off his rocker!”

Harry cast a Dry Clean Charm on his trouser leg to get rid of the dog-drool. “He might be, just a little. But he confirmed what we needed to know and provided us with a second witness. And now, let’s see to Zabini!”

 

**Wednesday, 30th August, 2017, 3:07 p.m.**

They found Zabini taking down the second grinder in the basement of the old warehouse at 41 Little Cobble Street. Mulder was nowhere to be seen; he must have lost track of Zabini during Apparition. But Harry and Scully were enough to take a spitting and snarling Zabini into custody.

“I know my rights, Potter. You’re not even licensed to lead this kind of investigation!”

“I find it very interesting that you presume to know about the kind of investigation I’m leading – especially after you’ve just displayed your determination not to be a part of it.” Harry let the corners of his mouth slip into a grimace that was anything but a smile. The taut look on Zabini’s face told him that he was doing it just right. “As I see it, you have two choices: either, you cooperate with me and I see what I can do to make it easier for you, or I’ll hand your case over to the Aurors.”

Since then, Harry had held Zabini in one of the interrogation rooms. Once he’d presented him with the facts and a healthy dose of Veritaserum, Zabine broke down quickly and confessed that he had been abducting the homeless Muggles with Teddy’s help; he had then taken the bodies to the grinder and had Teddy deliver the falsely labelled meat to Malfoy the next morning. 

“So, Zabini, explain it to me one more time. I understand that you held back the grinder delivery by placing Teddy under a long term Confundus charm. I also understand that you went for sick or dying homeless people because no one would miss them. And poor Pettigrew was just some kind of collateral damage. After he’d recognised Teddy, there was no way you could let him live. I get that you took your chance at ruining Draco Malfoy’s reputation with fake mincemeat for once and all. But one thing I don’t get. Why Muggles?”

Zabini laughed. “Isn’t it obvious, Potter?”

“Not to me, it isn’t. Would you care to explain?”

“I killed two birds with one stone. Why let Malfoy go down just for fake meat when he could go down for being a Muggle-murdering Death Eater as well?” 

Zabini was clearly enjoying himself, soaring high on Veritaserum, and all Harry had to do was to keep him talking and listen closely.

“Feed those Muggle-lovers around the Golden Boy some Muggles and see how they like the taste ... People would have gone wild.” Zabini’s voice sounded eerily calm. “And then I had the chance to set up the godson of Harry Potter as Malfoy’s accomplice. Handed to me on a silver platter. What a feast, eh?”

“You’d planned to out them both.”

“Of course I did. If you hadn’t started your investigation, I would have gone to the Prophet on Monday. Imagine the scandal with Eeylops. He would have never recovered from that blow.”

“Why, Zabini? I believe you to be ambitious enough to run a competition against Malfoy, but this? You were friends at Hogwarts. Why would you do this to him?”

Zabini snorted. “Friends? You call us friends? Don’t you know anything about competition in the same house? Malfoy and I’ve been competing against each other all our lives. There wasn’t a trick we wouldn’t use to beat the other. He was so high-brow about his whole business with the Dark Lord, until he realised how deep in shit he really was. After the war, he kept sucking up to everyone, always eager to show what a good little reformed Death Eater he was.”

“He never was a Death Eater.”

“So he’s got you convinced, too? That’s rich, Potter. I wouldn’t have expected you to fall for his tricks.”

“There are no tricks aside from you stalling this interview.”

Zabini leaned back in his chair, grinning broadly. “So, go on then.”

“You would have gone to the Prophet and outed Malfoy as a Death Eater. Why the Prophet?”

“Is there another rag more willing to print anything to sell more copies? Malfoy himself used the Prophet against you often enough. Have you forgotten?” 

“Who gave you the idea?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Zabini. Setting up Malfoy as a Death Eater – I might believe you came up with that part. But Muggles being fed to innocent restaurant customers. That’s not your style, is it?”

“Don’t you see the irony of it? Isn’t it beautiful, for Muggle-lovers to eat what they love s-so much?” Zabini laughed. 

Harry saw the corner of his mouth twist. Something was wrong. Something about ... food. Food and ... love. 

Lovers United In Death. Luna’s voice echoed through Harry’s mind. _They eat their deceased_. 

The Prophet wasn’t the one to print the most unusual stories. The Quibbler. _The first issue my father released after the death of my mum._

If he was right on this, Luna would be devastated. 

Harry turned around. Mulder had stopped taking notes and was looking at him expectantly.

“Get a warrant,” Harry told him. “The name is Xenophilius Lovegood. He lives north of Ottery St. Catchpole, on a large hill. The house is very ... recognisable.”

When he faced his prisoner again, Zabini’s grin had been wiped from his face. His skin was ashen. 

**Thursday, 1st September, 2017, 6:30 a.m.**

Half past six in the morning was too early for Harry to function properly, but to catch Baldwin alone, he had to do it. So the coffee was ready and steaming in two cups when his boss arrived at the office.

Baldwin gaped at him. “Have you been pulling an all-nighter, Potter?”

“Nope. Just being early, that’s all.” 

“Teddy’s job is clearly rubbing off on you.”

“Sir, there is actually something I wanted to talk about. In private.” Harry gestured at the two cups and his desk.

Baldwin pulled the office door close and took a seat. “Go on, then. I have a hunch that this has something to do with rats.”

 

**Thursday, 1st September, 2017, 02:17 p.m.**

“So, this is it,” concluded Harry. “The official release of your restaurant is in these papers, and here’s a copy for your file. Just sign on the dotted line, please.” 

Malfoy sat on a chair in his kitchen, listening to Harry’s recounting of the previous day.

“And Lovegood planned it all.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. He wanted to hurt me because he held me responsible for Luna being abducted in the first place. And he was after you because he wanted to punish your father.” Harry shook his head. “I’m still not sure that I get it.”

“You don’t? It’s pretty clear, I think.”

“The facts, all right, but why wouldn’t he just try to get at your father? Why take it out on you? It’s not as if France is that far away for someone who is used to expeditions around the world.”

Malfoy eyed him in disbelief. “You really don’t get it, do you? It’s simple. Just think about it from a pure-blood perspective. If you want to strike at someone, strike at their family. He wanted to get to Father through hurting me. Just like he thinks my father harmed his daughter and his wife. Luna Lovegood was imprisoned in the manor’s dungeon, after all.”

“And he insists that his wife’s potion accident was caused by some shoddy potion ingredients your father sold to her.”

Malfoy rested his elbows on the table and steepled his hands so that the tips of his index fingers touched his chin. “I don’t believe that part. Father-- he never would have ... All right, yes, he cared about making money. But selling shoddy ingredients to maximise his profit?”

“He wasn’t reluctant about sacrificing others for his own good at other times.”

“I _know_. But this was about his business. It was about quality. Malfoys only produce the very best. Always. That’s what he taught me. That’s what he lived by. Maybe he didn’t know about the ingredients being poor. Or Lovegood simply jumped to conclusions.”

Harry couldn’t stop himself. “Or maybe your father didn’t care.”

Anger flared up in Malfoy’s eyes, and his hands landed on the table with a thud. “What do you expect me to say, Potter? He’s still my father. I won’t excuse what he did, but I’ll still defend him.”

“Will you tell him what happened here?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll have to think about it. Right now, I’m glad that they don’t live in England. I can take my time to think before I do something I can’t undo.”

Harry nodded solemnly. He had had his fair share of situations where things would have been better left undone. It must be hard for Malfoy to think about his father as a fraud. Harry decided to let it go for now.

“Maybe this is what happened. Maybe Lovegood made it all up while he was incarcerated in Azkaban at the end of Voldemort’s time in power. Maybe he couldn’t stand the loss of everything he had. And because your father was involved in Luna’s imprisonment, Lovegood might have thought him responsible for the death of his wife as well. The files we got from St Mungo state clearly that Lovegood’s mental health has been unstable ever since. He was just so eccentric in his usual manner that people had a hard time noticing.”

“And what now?”

“Well, this was how I presented the cause to the Aurors. They have Lovegood’s diagnosis and confession, and what’s more important, they have Zabini’s confession about the murders and the grinder. Your name is cleared completely.”

“They won’t interrogate them again?”

“They won’t. I used Veritaserum and a voice recording, so there’s no need.” 

“And Zabini complied? He didn’t try to frame me?”

“I made it clear to him that working with me would be better for him than an interrogation with the Aurors. For Lovegood’s arrest, I claimed that I couldn’t wait for the Aurors to get ready, lest he had heard about Zabini’s arrest.”

“But my father’s name will be all over Lovegood’s confession. They’ll drag him back from France, trying to press him for money just because they can!” Malfoy was back to his usual wild gesturing. 

“They could do that. But what’s the point in stirring up old cases? I left the parts about Luna and removed those about her mother. Luna’s imprisonment at your father’s dungeon was enough of a motive for the Aurors to believe in. And that case is closed.”

“Are you kidding me? Harry Potter, not only willing to let go of a case but actually forging testimony?” Malfoy eyed him with scrutiny. “This is pity, isn’t it? You pity me. Fuck off.”

“No. It’s not-- damn! Why do you have to make everything so hard? I think you’ve rather been through a lot, but that’s not pity. And what good will it do anyone to investigate a case that goes back twenty-five years or more? I don’t want your name in the press, and that’s what would happen, even though the case was about your father. You are not your father, Malfoy, and unlike Lovegood, I’m not going to get him through you.”

Malfoy didn’t say a word for a long time. He simply sat and traced invisible patterns on the table with his index finger. 

It was ample time for Harry to question the sanity of his decisions. But no matter what Lucius Malfoy might or might not have done, it wouldn’t be fair to let Draco Malfoy suffer the consequences.

Finally, Malfoy let out a harsh breath. “That’s,” he cleared his throat and started anew, “that’s very decent of you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“I just don’t understand ...” Malfoy’s voice trailed off, as if he was reluctant to ask. “Why? I keep thinking about it, and I just don’t get it. Why did you insist on investigating my case? Why didn’t you take it to the Aurors? It wasn’t as if you trusted me, was it?”

Harry was certain that his answer would hurt Malfoy, but he, just like Teddy, deserved the truth. “No. I didn’t trust you. Not at that time. But I still trusted your sense of survival. You’re not stupid enough to throw away what’s important to you, something you fought so hard to gain.”

Malfoy tensed. His eyes were hard, as if he steeled himself for more.

Harry continued. “My godfather suffered twelve years in Azkaban and led the life of a fugitive because one finger served for a whole body. I didn’t want to make the same mistake. I wanted the whole picture.”

Malfoy nodded. He didn’t say a word, though his shoulders sagged a little. His hands lay on the table like he didn’t know what to do with them. The muscles in his neck stood out in tense strings and his jaw worked furiously while he stared at his hands. Harry could tell that he wasn’t done talking. 

Finally, Malfoy continued. “I won’t promise anything, but I can check Father’s old sales books ... just to look into the transactions, whom he bought from and if there are any hints about ... about the quality, you know?” 

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I heard what you said. But it might be that I still need to do this. For ... for myself.”

“I get that.” Harry nodded. “Just, take your time.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll look ... when I’m ready.”

 _Survival is more painful than death._ This was something Lovegood had said to Harry. In a weird way, he had managed to get back at Lucius – if not as publicly then more efficiently that he might have dreamed of. If Malfoy had a look into his father’s old sales books and found that he had tampered with the quality of the company’s ingredients to cut costs, he would lose some of the affection he still felt for his father. If he didn’t find evidence, he would certainly feel guilty for distrusting his father in the first place, after all his childhood lessons on quality. And as long as he was making up his mind about checking the books, he would live in doubt. Harry did not envy him.

Malfoy’s hands were still placed on the table, two lonely, forgotten things. Harry lifted one up. It was cold, so cold. He closed both of his hands around Malfoy’s, half expecting Malfoy to pull away. 

Malfoy looked up, startled, but let his hand stay between Harry’s. “For now, I have to focus on the future. Reopen Malfoy’s Bon Bites, see how I can make it up to Eeylops, get on with the themed menu for October, and so forth.”

“When will you reopen the restaurant? Tomorrow?”

Malfoy shook his head. “No. I’ve given this a bit of a thought. We’ll reopen in a week, with a big bang. That will give me ample time to advertise, come up with a special menu, and get everything ready. Nothing better to attract customers than with your head held high in the face of a scandal. Tomorrow evening, though ... I’ll need you here.”

Now it was for Harry to be startled. “You need me why?”

“I have a special dinner in mind for you. Do you have time?”

“Of course I have. It’s Friday. I always spend Friday night at your restaurant, you know that.”

Malfoy’s hand had warmed up nicely between Harry’s palms, and he exchanged it for the other. It was just as cold as the first one had been.

Malfoy looked at his hand between Harry’s and smiled. “I hoped you hadn’t changed that habit.”

“I haven’t.”

“Tomorrow then. Six o’clock. And don’t be late.”

“All right, then.” Harry nodded and let go of Malfoy’s hand. The touch lingered on his palms, warm and dry.

The image of Malfoy cradling his hand to his chest stayed with Harry, long after his stomach had stopped spinning from the tug of Apparition.

 

**Friday, 2nd September, 2017, 06.00 p.m.**

The one table in the kitchen was decked in a white tablecloth with silver and green ornaments. But the candles floating above were red and gold. 

Malfoy’s idea of a special dinner involved a menu of soup, salad, three different main courses, cheese and dessert, accompanied by a selection of the finest wines money could buy. They had started at six in the evening and had spent the next four hours dining and talking about the case, moved from there to other aspects of their jobs. They were still carefully omitting anything that might count as painful territory and so any talk about families or the war had been left out of their conversation.

Harry felt relaxed and comfortable in Malfoy’s company. Comfortable enough to wish that they could do this more often. Malfoy was busy presenting the last dish of the evening: a red berry cake. It looked delicious, with different kinds of berries decorating a meringue topping. 

“There’s a surprise inside,” Malfoy told him. “So stop staring at it and take up your spoon.”

The surprise turned out to be tiers of vanilla ice cream between tiers of berries and ladyfingers. Harry counted three tiers each before he attacked it with his spoon. It tasted as delicious as it looked, and Harry didn’t spare the compliments.

“I wanted to ask you this for years, Malfoy. Why did you start? Cooking, I mean.”

Malfoy’s shoulders slumped a little; he shifted his gaze away from Harry and onto the table, as if he was looking for words written on the table cloth. There could not have been a harsher change of atmosphere. When Malfoy spoke, his voice was rough with restrained emotion.

“My Aunt Bellatrix made me do it. Back when she was living with my family at our house.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. The mention of the name brought back uncomfortable memories of them all being held prisoner at Malfoy Manor, of Hermione being tortured, and of Dobby dying with a dagger in his chest.

“She thought it funny, thought she could humiliate me with it, making me work like a house-elf, you know?” Malfoy gave a shaky laugh. “I ... I ... at first, I hated it. I stood in the kitchen, surrounded by house-elves who were scared to death at the thought of something going wrong and them being blamed for it. Bella insisted on the fanciest dishes, demanding that I serve them to her. I waited at her table, watching her taste the food I’d prepared. She was never satisfied, never. Soon I started to see that no matter what I did, she’d always find a way to curse me.”

Malfoy shuddered slightly, then he continued his tale, his eyes still held fixedly on the white cloth.

“I got better, though, with the cooking, and at some point I realised that it was a lot like potion making. It calmed me, because I had to focus on what I was doing. Only, it was even better than potion making because, well, with a potion ... you can’t be creative with a potion. You can’t play around, unless you’re willing to spend a lot of time experimenting and taking risks. It was one of the first things my father taught me about potions. Never play around. He might have said that Lovegood’s wife had been too careless.”

When Harry shifted in his seat, Malfoy quickly added: “That’s not what I would say, though. Quality ingredients are the basis of everything. If the base is shoddy, the most careful potion maker can still blow himself up. On the other hand, if you handle the process carelessly, the best ingredients won’t save you from ruining the potion and the result may be even more dangerous.”

Malfoy paused, and Harry waited for him to continue. 

“With cooking, the only risk I took then was to produce something that wasn’t to Bellatrix’s taste.” He shrugged. “She would curse me anyway, so why not try something different? I started using slight variations first, then moved on to less traditional ingredients and new spices. When I was cooking, I was ... free. Free to do what I wanted and free to enjoy it. The only drawback was that I couldn’t let her see. The moment she’d found out that I liked it, she’d have taken me from the kitchen and given me something to do that I hated.”

“Like cleaning?”

“You’re so predictable, Potter. She tried to make me clean the kitchen, too. The house-elves threw fits, and my mother had to intervene.” The thought seemed to amuse Malfoy; he had finally given up trying to stare a hole in the table cloth and looked Harry in the face. The corners of his eyes wrinkled into a fond smile. “You should have seen Bellatrix’s face when she realised that she’d been outvoted by house-elves. My mother, of course, argued that she wasn’t willing to let them go slack and lose all discipline just because Bellatrix insisted that I should do the cleaning as well. It worked.”

“And after the war, you decided that you liked cooking well enough to go on?”

“I like it, and even more so, I was good at it. I knew that I had to rebuild the family name from scratch, with my father being banned from all political and economic activities, so I thought it best to make my name in a new field. Nothing the Malfoys were known for, you know, like politics, potion making, or sales of potion ingredients. I wanted to redeem our family, but I also wanted a fresh start. Otherwise, everyone would have suspected me of using old networks and allies. I wanted to ... to ...”

“To be loyal and yet to build a life of your own,” contributed Harry.

Malfoy nodded. “How did you know?”

“I know the feeling. It wasn’t that much different for me after the war. I was done fighting. I wanted a quiet life. But I also wanted to help.” Harry shrugged. “I guess I can’t do much about the saving-people complex.”

“Golden boy and all that.” Malfoy gave a soft laugh. 

It felt like genuine understanding to Harry, like Malfoy knew exactly what Harry was talking about. 

“The Aurors were no longer an option after I’d taken a look into how they ran things. And I had seen enough of the Ministry to know that I wouldn’t be able to make a difference. That’s why I went into health inspection. Less corrupt, and still a chance to do something good.”

“So, how come you never ...?” Malfoy didn’t finish his question, but the look he gave Harry was enough to guess the subject of his interest. After all, Harry was used to people wondering about it.

“Ginny and I, we sort of ran out of fuel after a while. She needed someone more ... giving. More focused on her than on anybody else. So we called it quits. And after Ginny ... there wasn’t anyone else. Not really.” Harry shrugged. “I saw a few women, and men, but whenever it got a little closer, I just couldn’t bother. Finally, I stopped trying. I focused on my job, on my friends, on Teddy. It was enough for a long time.”

Harry looked up and saw Malfoy’s eyes resting on his face. Malfoy was listening, eagerly listening to what Harry had to say. The realisation was incentive enough to go on.

“But now ... Teddy’s leaving ... he told me that he thinks about going to France to get a new perspective. He might stay with Bill and Fleur for a start. As for my job, I like it, I really do. I work with good people, people I trust. It’s great to see Hermione and Ron as often as I do, and the Weasleys, too. And Luna will need us all, with her father looking forward to a prolonged stay in St Mungo’s. My life is full of people who need me, full of friends, too.”

Malfoy’s eyes suddenly got a guarded look. “And the list is complete. You don’t need--“

“No! Stop interrupting me! You’re doing it again, making assumptions. And I’m getting this out all wrong. What I wanted to say is that ... that I’m happy. I really am. I don’t need ... only, that ... I do. I do need--“

“Someone to make sense out of your mangled sentences?”

“Not just someone. I’ve realised that I missed Friday nights at your restaurant. I missed ... seeing you. I enjoyed this,” Harry indicated the kitchen, including Malfoy at the table, “last Sunday, and today, too. And I thought that ... maybe ... if you’re ... interested ... and ... not ... not too busy ... that we might ... well ... you know?”

“Know ... what ... exactly?” Malfoy’s voice was a low purr from across the table. His breath smelled of red berries and vanilla ice cream. 

“Don’t you know? Malfoy? What do you think you’re doing?”

Malfoy had half lifted himself out of his chair and leaned on the table on his hands and elbows. His chest was precariously close to the red berry cake, but his face was even closer to Harry’s. 

“Potter. You talk too much.”

And he kissed Harry on the lips.

His mouth tasted of berries, of sweet vanilla, and of something spicy beneath that that was utterly, uniquely Malfoy. His presence took over all of Harry’s senses. It was in the sensuous swirls of Malfoy’s tongue as he deepened their kiss, tasting Harry like he was one of Malfoy’s delicious desserts. It was in the strength of Malfoy’s hands on Harry’s arms and chest, fondling him like fruit ripe to be eaten as they pushed themselves away from the table, stumbling to their feet to get closer to each other. It was in the tenderness of Malfoy’s fingers caressing Harry’s hair and face, in the fondness of his gaze when they finally broke their kiss and stood in silence, simply looking at each other.

It was at that moment that Harry was willing to believe that a person could give himself over to being devoured by another. 

“I could eat you up,” murmured Malfoy. He peered into Harry’s face. “You look shaky. Did I say something wrong? This line worked well the last time I used it. I swear.”

“Huh? Oh,” Harry waved his thoughts of strange cults and food ingredients away, “forget it. I was just ... distracted.”

“Distracted? When you’re here, kissing the man who has been secretly smitten with you for years?”

The light-hearted banter that Harry was used to getting from Malfoy was back. It was a good sign, Harry decided. It made answering easy.

“What can I say? I’m a fool.”

Malfoy’s smile was a reward much better than a promise. It was hope.

“I know.” Another kiss followed. Malfoy’s tongue teased over the tender insides of Harry’s lips. “But the good thing is: I’ve begun to see what a wonderful fool you are.”

Harry ran his hands down Malfoy’s back until they landed on the soft curve of Malfoy’s arse. He squeezed and pulled Malfoy closer, until they stood flush. 

Malfoy shuddered slightly and smiled his lopsided little smile. His breath came in quick puffs – vanilla, berries and spice. The heat of his body radiated into Harry’s skin. 

They were going to taste each other tonight, all night long. But tomorrow was no work day, and Malfoy’s restaurant would not open for another week.

They had this night, and the weekend, and, after that, all the time they wanted to taste and to touch, to talk and to listen, to kiss and to map each other’s bodies. They knew what they were getting into, or maybe they didn’t. Harry decided that it didn’t matter. Any recipe would only get them so far. Malfoy’s touch was too real to ignore, his jibes were filled with too much life not to answer to them. Whatever they had, it felt too strong to let it go without trying to see where it would take them. 

And when their lips touched for the third time, it was Harry who initiated the kiss and Malfoy who kissed him back.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: At the exclusive Malfoy Confectionery an animagus!rat was "accidentally" worked into a batch of treacle tart that the establishment is famous for. MoM Health Inspector Harry Potter investigates. Who was the secret animagus, and can s/he be reanimated? But why, by Merlin's hard-boiled eggs, was rat used as an ingredient for treacle tart in the first place?  
> Three additions: : June is Dead Elf Head Cake-Month, Dark Mark candle smoke, three-tiered berry red cake
> 
> Written for HD Career Fair 2009 and inspired by Vaysh's wonderful prompt and our bunny-breeding conversation. I took artistic licence and turned the confectionery into a posh restaurant. It’s still about food, only with a larger variety. I didn’t make the R-rating either. I offer plot and mad science instead. What can I say? Our two boys were so busy with the murder mystery that the confessions and the romance had to wait until the dessert had been served.
> 
> This story was beta-read by the most talented celta_diabolica. While she was immensely busy with RL stuff, she still made generous time for discussions and feedback and used her knack for details to make this a water-tight case. Paragraphs posted a short essay in her journal about how to start a murder mystery and inspired me to start with the victim. *grin* She, too, read the story through for consistency and POV errors. Those two helped me not to murder my mystery – thanks so much for your support! Another thank you goes to celta_diabolica, paragraphs and waterbird for providing me with ideas for mouth-watering food that would satisfy Draco’s exquisite senses.
> 
> No rats were harmed in the creation of this story. ;-)


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